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FMIimiBSS^IPMJllL 


BARNABY   RUDGE 


BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 


("BOZ.") 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  UNIFORM  EDITION  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS. 


BLEAK  HOUSE. 
PICKWICK  PAPERS. 
OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 
OLIVER  TWIST. 
SKETCHES  BY  "BOZ." 
BARNABY  RUDGE. 
NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 
MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT, 
DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 


IN  I  NG 

DICKENS'  NEW  STORIES.  Contain- 
ing— The  Seven  Poor  Travellers. 
Nine  New  Stories  by  the  Christmas 
Fire.  Hard  Times.  Lizzie  Leigh. 
The  Miner's  Daughters.     Fortune 

WiLDRED,    the    Foi^NDLING,    ETC. 

DOMBEY  AND  SON. 
CHRISTMAS    STORIES,    AND    PIC- 
TURES FROM  ITALY. 


P  I)  T 1  a  fr  e  I  p  I)  i  a : 

T.  B.  PETERSON,  NO.  102   CHESTNUT  STREET. 


;]    ■^ 


119,! 


LOAN  STACIC 


Pnnte.1  by  T.   K    i;  P.   G    CoUins 


Al 


PREFACE  TO   BARNABY  RUDGE. 


If  the  object  an  author  has  had  in  writing  a  book  cannot 
be  discovered  from  its  perusal,  the  probabihty  is  that  it  is 
either  very  deep,  or  very  shallow.  Hoping  that  mine  may  lie 
somewhere  between  these  two  extremes,  I  shall  say  very  little 
about  it,  and  that  only  in  reference  to  one  point. 

No  account  of  the  Gordon  Riots  having  been,  to  my  know- 
ledge, introduced  into  any  Work  of  Fiction,  and  the  subject 
presenting  very  extraordinary  and  remarkable  features.  T  was 
led  to  project  this  Tale. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say,  that  those  shameful  tumults,  while 
they  reflect  indelible  disgrace  upon  the  time  in  which  they 
occurred,  and  all  who  had  act  or  part  in  them,  teach  a  good 
lesson.  That  what  we  falsely  call  a  religious  cry  is  easily 
raised  by  men  who  have  no  religion,  and  who  in  their  daily 
practice  set  at  nought  the  commonest  principles  of  right  and 
wrong ;  that  it  is  begotten  of  intolerance  and  persecution ; 
that  it  is  senseless,  besotted,  inveterate,  and  unmerciful;  all 
History  teaches  us.  But  perhaps  we  do  not  know  it  m  our 
hearts  too  well,  1o  profit  by  even  so  humble  and  familiar  an 
example  as  the  "  No  Popery"  riots  of  seventeen  hundred  and 
eighty. 

However  imperfectly  those  disturbances  are  set  forth  in  the 
following  pages,  they  are  impartially  painted  by  one  who  has 
no  sympathy  with  the  Romish  Church,  although  he  acknow 

'7S8 


PREFACE   TO    BARNABY    RUDGE. 
Hedges,  as  most  men  do,  some  esteemed  friends  among  the  fol- 
lowers of  its  creed. 

It  may  be  observed  that,  in  the  description  of  the  principal 
outrages,  reference  has  been  had  to  the  best  authorities  of  that 
time,  such  as  they  are ;  and  that  the  account  given  in  this 
Tale,  of  all  the  main  features  of  the  riots,  is  substantially 
correct. 

It  may  be  further  remarked,  that  Mr.  Dennis's  allusions  to 
the  flourishing  condition  of  his  trade  in  those  days,  have  their 
foundation  in  truth,  not  in  the  Author's  fancy.  Any  file  of  old 
newspapers,  or  odd  volume  of  the  Annual  Register,  will  prove 
this  with  terrible  ease. 

Even  the  case  of  Mary  Jones,  dwelt  upon  with  so  much 
pleasure  by  the  same  character,  is  no  effort  of  invention.  The 
facts  were  stated  exactly  as  they  are  stated  here,  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  Whether  they  afforded  as  much  entertainment 
to  the  merry  gentlemen  assembled  there,  as  some  other  most 
affecting  circumstances  of  a  similar  nature  mentioned  by  Sir 
Samuel  Romilly,  is  not  recorded. 

It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  add  in  this  place — for  which 
I  have  reserved  the  acknowledgment — that  for  a  beautiful 
thought,  in  the  last  chapter  but  one  of  "  The  Old  Curiosity 
Shop,"  I  am  indebted  to  Mr.  Rogers.  It  is  taken  from  his 
charming  Tale,  "  Ginevra :" 

"  And  long  might'st  thou  have  seen 
An  old  man  wandering  as  in  quest  of  something. 
Something  he  could  not  find — he  knew  not  what. ' 

Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate, 
November,  1841. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIRST. 


the  year  IvTS,  there 
stood  upon  the  bord- 
ers of  Epping  Forest, 
at  a  distance  of  about 
twelve  miles  from 
London  —  measuring 
from  the  Standard  in 
Cornhill,  or  rather 
from  the  spot  on  or 
near  to  which  the 
Standard  used  to  be 
in  days  of  yore  —  a 
house  of  public  en- 
tertainment, called 
the  Maypole;  which 
fact  was  demonstra- 
ted to  all  such  travel- 
lers as  could  neither 
read  nor  write  (and 
sixty-six  years  aoo, 
a  vast  number,  both  of  travellers  and  stay- 
at-homes,  were  in  this  condition)  by  the 
er.ililem  reared  on  the  roadside,  over  against 


^^y-^v^ 


the  house,  which,  if  not  of  those  goodly 
proportions  that  Maypoles  were  wont  to 
present  in  olden  times,  was  a  fair  young 
ash,  thirty  feet  in  height,  and  straight  as 
any  arrow  that  ever  English  yeoman  drew. 
The  Maypole  —  by  which  term,  from 
henceforth  is  meant  the  house,  and  not  its 
sign  —  the  Maypole  was  an  old  building, 
with  more  gable-ends  than  u.  lazy  man 
would  care  to  count  on  a  sunny  day  ;  huge 
zig-zag  chimneys,  out  of  whi<;h  it  seemed 
as  though  even  smoke  could  not  choose 
but  come  in  more  than  naturally  fantastic 
shapes,  imparted  to  it  in  its  tortuous  pro- 
gress ;  and  vast  stables,  gloomy,  ruinous 
and  empty.  The  place  was  said  to  have 
been  built  in  the  days  of  King  Henry  the 
Eighth  ;  and  there  was  a  legend,  not  only 
that  Queen  Elizabeth  had  slept  there  one 
night,  while  upon  a  hunting  excursion,  to 
wit,  in  a  certain  oaU-panelled  room,  with 
a  deep  bay  window,  but  that  next  morn 
ing,  while  standing  on  a  mmititing  li^ooK. 


10 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


before  the  door,  vilh  one  foot  in  the  stir- 
rup, the  virgin  moiiHrch  had  then  and  tliere 
boxed  and  cutied  an  unlucky  page  for  some 
neglect  of  duty.  'Die  matter-of-fact  and 
doubtful  folks,  of  whom  there  were  a  few 
among  the  Maypole  customers,  as  unlucki- 
ly there  always  are  in  every  little  com- 
munity, were  inclined  to  look  upon  this 
tradition  as  rather  apocryphal ;  but  when- 
ever the  landlord  of  that  ancient  hostelry 
appealed  to  the  mounting  block  itself,  as 
evidence,  and  triumphantly  pointed  out 
that  there  it  stood  in  the  same  place  to 
that  very  day,  the  doubters  never  failed  to 
be  put  down  by  a  large  majority,  and  all 
true  believers  exulted  as  in  a  victory. 

Whether  these,  and  many  other  stories 
of  the  like  nature,  were  true  or  untrue,  the 
Maypole  was  really  an  old  house,  a  very 
old  house,  perhaps  as  old  as  it  claimed  to 
be,  and  perhaps  older,  which  will  some- 
times happen  with  houses  of  an  uncertain, 
as  with  ladies  of  a  certain  age.  Its  win- 
dows were  old  diamond  pane  lattices,  its 
floors  were  sunken  and  uneven,  its  ceilings 
blackened  by  the  hand  of  time,  and  heavy 
with  massive  beams.  Over  the  doorway 
was  an  ancient  porch,  quaintly  and  gro- 
tesquely carved  ;  and  here  on  summer  even- 
ings the  more  favoured  customers  smoked 
and  drank  —  ay,  and  sang  many  a  good 
song  too,  sometimes  —  reposing  on  two 
grim-looking  high  backed  settles,  which, 
like  the  twin  dragons  of  some  fairy  tale, 
guarded  the  entrance  to  the  mansion. 

In  the  chimneys  of  the  disused  rooms, 
swallows  had  built  their  nests  for  many  a 
long  year,  and  from  earliest  spring  to  latest 
autumn,  whole  colonies  of  sparrows  chirp- 
ed and  twittered  in  the  eaves.  There  were 
more  pigeons  about  the  dreary  stable-yard 
and  outbuildings,  than  anybody  but  the 
landlord  could  reckon  up.  The  wheeling 
and  circling  flights  of  runts,  fantails,  tum- 
blers, and  pouters,  were  perhaps  not  quite 
consistent  with  the  grave  and  sober  cha- 
racter of  the  building;  but  the  monotonous 
cooing,  which  never  ceased  to  be  raised  by 
some  among  them,  all  day  long,  suited  it 
exactly,  and  seemed  to  lull  it  to  rest. 
With  its  overhanging  stories,  drowsy  little 
panes  of  glass,  and  front  bulging  out  and 
projecting  over  the  pathway,  the  old  house 
looked  as  if  it  were  nodding  in  its  sleep. 
Indeed  it  needed  no  very  great  stretch  of 
fancy  to  detect  in  it  other  resemblances  to 
humanity.  The  bricks  of  which  it  was 
built,  had  originally  been  a  deep  dark  red, 
but  had  grown  yellow  and  discoloured  like 
an  old  man's  skin ;  the  sturdy  timbers  had 
decayed  like  teeth ;  and  here  and  there  the 
ivy.  like  a  warm  garment  to  comfort  it  in 
It8  age,  wrapt  its  green  leaves  closely 
lound  the  time-worn  walls. 


I  It  was  a  hale  and  hexrty  age,  though, 
'  still :  and  in  the  summer  or  autumn  even- 
ings, when  tlie  glow  of  the  setting  sun 
fell  upon  the  oak  and  chestnut  trees  of  the 
adjacent  forest,  the  old  house,  partaking  of 
its  lustre,  seemed  their  fit  companion,  and 
to  have  many  good  years  of  life  in  him  yet. 

The  evening  with  which  we  have  to  do, 
was  neither  a  summer  nor  an  autumn  one, 
but  the  twilight  of  a  day  in  March,  when 
the  wind  howled  dismally  among  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  rumbling  in  the 
wide  chimneys  and  driving  the  rain  against 
the  windows  of  the  Maypole  Inn,  gave  such 
of  its  frequenters  as  chanced  to  be  there  at 
the  moment,  an  undeniable  reason  for  pro- 
longing their  stay,  and  caused  the  landlord 
to  prophesy  that  the  night  would  certainly 
clear  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely,  which 
by  a  remarkable  coincidence  was  the  hour 
at  which  he  always  closed  his  house. 

The  name  of  him  upon  whom  the  spiiit 
of  prophecy  thus  descended  was  John  Wil- 
let,  a  burly,  large-headed  man  with  a  fat 
face,  which  betokened  profound  obstinacy 
and  slowness  of  apprehension,  combined 
with  a  very  strong  reliance  upon  his  own  me- 
rits. It  was  John  Willet's  ordinary  boast  in 
his  more  placid  moods  that  if  he  was  slow  he 
was  sure ;  which  assertion  could  in  one  sense 
at  least  be  by  no  means  gainsaid,  seeing 
that,  he  was  in  everything  unquestionably 
the  reverse  of  fast,  and  withal  one  of  the 
most  dogged  and  positive  fellows  in  exist- 
ence— always  sure  that  what  he  thought 
or  said  or  did  was  right,  and  holding  it  as 
a  thing  quite  settled  and  ordained  by  the 
laws  of  nature  and  Providence,  that  any- 
body who  said  or  did  or  thought  otherwise 
must  be  inevitably  and  of  necessity  wrong. 

Mr.  Willet  walked  slowly  up  to  the 
window,  flattened  his  fat  nose  against  the 
cold  glass,  and  shading  his  eyes  that  his 
sight  might  not  be  affected  by  the  ruddy 
glow  of  the  fire,  looked  abroad.  Then  he 
walked  slowly  back  to  his  old  seat  in  the 
chimney-corner,  and  composing  himself  in 
it  with  a  slight  shiver,  such  as  a  man 
might  give  way  to  and  so  acquire  an  addi- 
tional relish  for  the  warm  blaze,  said,  look- 
ing round  upon  his  guests: 

"  It'll  clear  at  eleven  o'clock.  No  soon- 
er and  no  later.  Not  before  and  not  after- 
wards." 

"How  do  you  make  out  thati"  said  a 
little  man  in  the  opposite  corner.  "  The 
moon  is  past  the  full,  and  she  rises  at 
nine." 

John  looked  sedately  and  solemnly  at  his 
questioner  until  he  had  brought  his  mind 
to  bear  upon  the  whole  of  his  observation, 
and  then  made  answer,  in  a  tone  which 
seemed  to  imply  that  the  moon  was  pecu 
liarly  his  business  and  nobociy  else's : 


BARiNABY     RUDGE. 


II 


"  Never  you  mind  about  the  moon. 
Don't  you  trouble  yourself  about  her.  You 
let  the  moon  alone,  and  I'll  let  you  alone." 

"No  oflence  I  hopel"  said  the  little 
man. 

Again  John  waited  leisurely  until  the 
observation  had  thoroughly  penetrated  to 
his  brain,  and  then  replying,  "  No  offence 
as  ye/,"  applied  a  light  to  his  pipe  and 
smoked  in  placid  silence;  now  and  then 
casting  a  sidelong  look  at  a  man  wrapped 
in  a  loose  riding-coat  with  huge  cuffs  orna- 
mented with  tarnished  silver  lace  and 
large  metal  buttons,  who  sat  apart  from 
the  regular  frequenters  of  the  house,  and 
wearing  a  hat  flapped  over  his  face,  which 
was  still  further  shaded  by  the  hand  on 
which  his  tbrehead  rested,  looked  unsocia- 
ble enough. 

There  was  another  guest,  who  sat,  boot- 
ed and  spurred,  at  some  distance  from  the 
fire  also,  and  whose  thoughts — to  judge 
from  his  folded  arms  and  knitted  brows, 
and  from  the  untasted  liquor  before  him — 
were  occupied  with  other  matters  than  the 
topics  under  discussion  or  the  persons  who 
discussed  them.  This  was  a  young  man 
of  about  eight-and-twenty,  rather  above 
the  middle  height,  and  though  of  a  some- 
what slight  figure,  gracefully  and  strongly 
made.  He  wore  his  own  dark  hair,  and 
was  accoutred  in  a  riding  dress,  which,  to- 
gether with  his  large  boots  (resembling  in 
shape  and  fashion  those  worn  by  our  Life 
Guardsmen  at  the  present  day),  showed 
indisputable  traces  of  the  bad  condition  of 
the  roads.  But  travel-stained  though  he 
was,  he  was  well  and  even  richly  attired, 
and  without  being  over-dressed  looked  a 
gallant  gentleman. 

Lying  upon  the  table  beside  him,  as  he 
hsd  carelessly  thrown  them  down,  were  a 
heavy  riding-whip  and  a  slouched  hat,  the 
latter  worn  no  doubt  as  being  best  suited 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  weather.  There, 
too,  were  a  pair  of  pistols  in  a  holster-case, 
and  a  short  riding-cloak.  Little  of  his 
face  was  visible,  except  the  long  dark  lash- 
es which  concealed  his  downcast  eyes,  but 
an  air  of  careless  ease  and  natural  grace- 
fulness of  demeanour  pervaded  the  figure, 
and  seemed  to  comprehend  even  these 
slight  accessories,  which  were  all  hand- 
some, and  in  good  keeping. 

Towards  this  young  gentleman  the  eyes 
of  Mr.  Willet  wandered  but  once,  and 
then  as  if  in  mute  inquiry  whether  he  had 
observed  his  silent  neighbour.  It  was 
plain  that  John  and  the  young  gentleman 
iiad  often  met  before.  Finding  that  his 
look  was  not  returned,  or  indeed  observed 
by  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed, 
John  gradually  concentrated  the  whole 
power  of  his   eyes   into  one   focus,  and 


brought  it  to  boar  upon  the  man  in  the 
flapped  hat,  at  wlioui  lie  came  to  stare  in 
course  of  liuu-,  with  an  intensity  so  remark- 
able that  it  afl'ccted  his  fireside  cronies, 
who  all,  as  with  one  accord,  took  theii 
pipes  from  their  lips,  and  stared  with  open 
mouths  at  the   stranger  likewise. 

The  sturdy  landlord  had  a  large  pair  of 
dull  fish-like  eyes,  and  the  little  man  who 
had  hazarded  the  remark  about  the  moon 
(and  who  was  the  parish  cleik  and  bell- 
ringer  of  Chigwell ;  a  village  hard  by,)  h-id 
little  round  black  shiny  eyes  like  beats; 
moreover  this  little  man  wore  at  the  kmes 
of  his  rusty  black  breeches,  and  on  1]  ^ 
rusty  black  coat,  and  all  down  his  long 
flapped  waistcoat,  little  queer  buttons  like 
nothing  except  his  eyes  ;  but  so  like  them, 
that  as  they  twinkled  and  glistened  in  the 
light  of  the  fire,  which  shone  too  in  his 
bright  shoe-buckles,  he  seemed  all  eyes 
from  bead  to  foot,  and  to  be  gazing  with 
every  one  of  them  at  the  unknown  customei'. 
No  wonder  that  a  man  should  grow  resth  sa 
under  such  an  inspection  as  this,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  eyes  belonging  to  short  Tom 
Cobb  the  general  chandler  and  post-office 
keeper,  and  long  Phil  Parkes  the  ranger, 
both  of  whom,  infected  by  the  example  o( 
their  companions,  regarded  him  of  the 
flapped  hat  no  less  attentively. 

The  stranger  became  restless  ;  perhaps 
from  being  exposed  to  ibis  raking  fire  of 
eyes,  perhaps  from  the  nature  of  his  pre- 
vious meditations — most  probably  from  the 
latter  cause,  for  as  he  changed  his  position 
and  looked  hastily  round,  he  started  to  find 
himself  the  obj(^ct  of  such  keen  regard, 
and  darted  an  angry  and  suspicious  glance 
at  the  fireside  group.  It  had  the  effect  of 
immediately  diverting  all  eyes  to  the  chim- 
ney, except  those  of  John  Willet,  who 
finding  himself,  as  it  were,  caught  in  the 
fact,  and  not  being  (as  has  been  already 
observed)  of  a  very  ready  nature,  remained 
staring  at  his  guest  in  a  particularly  awk- 
ward and  disconcerted  manner. 

"  Well  ]"  said  the  stranger. 

Well.  There  was  not  much  in  well. 
It  was  not  a  long  speech.  "  I  thought  you 
gave  an  order,"  said  the  landlord,  after  a 
pause  of  two  or  three  minutes  for  con- 
sideration. 

The  stranger  took  off  his  hat,  and  dis- 
closed the  hard  features  of  a  man  of  sixy 
or  thereabouts,  much  weather-beaten  and 
worn  by  time,  and  the  naturally  harsh  ex 
pression  of  which  was  not  improved  by  a 
dark  handkerchief,  which  was  bound  tight- 
ly round  his  head,  and,  while  it  served  the 
purpose  of  a  wig,  shaded  his  forehead,  and 
almost  hid  his  eyebrows.  If  it  were  in- 
tended to  conceal  or  divert  attention  froni 
a  deep  gash,  now  healed  into  an  ugly  seam 


\9 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


which,  when  it  was  first  inflicted,  must 
nave  laid  bare  his  cheekbone,  the  object 
was  but  indifferently  attained,  for  it  could 
scarcely  fail  to  be  noted  at  a  fiance.  His 
complexion  was  of  a  cadaverous  hue,  and 
he  had  a  afrizzly  jafftrpd  beard  of  some 
three  weeks'  date.  Such  was  the  figure 
(very  meanly  and  poorly  clad)  that  now 
rose  from  the  seat,  and  stalking  across  the 
room,  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  chimney, 
which  the  politeness  or  fears  of  the  little 
clerk  very  readily  assigned  to  iiim. 

"A  highwayman!"  whispered  Tom 
Cobb,  to  Parkes  the  ranger. 

"  Do  you  suppose  highwaymen  don't 
dress  handsomer  than  that?"  replied 
Parkes.  "It's  a  better  business  than  you 
think  for,  Tom,  and  hiohwaymen  don't 
need  or  use  to  be  shabby,  take  my  word 
for  it." 

Meanwhile,  the  subject  of  their  specula- 
lions  had  done  due  honour  to  the  house, 
by  calling  for  some  drink,  which  was 
promptly  supplied  by  the  Inndlord's  son, 
•loe,  a  broi'd  shouldered  strapping  young 
fellow,  of  twenty,  whom  it  pleased  his 
father  still  tn  consider  a  little  boy,  and  to 
treataccordinglv.  Stretching  out  his  hands 
to  warm  them  by  the  blazing  fire,  the  man 
Mimed  his  head  fuvards  the  company,  and 
Htier  running  his  eye  sharply  over  them, 


said  in  a  voice,  well  suited  to  his  appear 
ance  : 

"  What  house  is  that  which  stands  a 
mile  or  so  from  here]" 

"  Public-house  ?"  said  the  landlord,  with 
his  uoual  deliberation. 

*'  Public-house,  father!"  exclaimed  Joe, 
"  where 's  the  public-house,  within  a  mile 
or  so  of  tlie  Maypole]  He  menHS  the 
great  house  —  the  Warren  —  naturally  and 
of  course.  The  old  red  brick  house,  sir, 
thai  stands  in  its  own  grounds — ]" 

"  Ay,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  And  that  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago, 
stood  in  a  park,  five  times  as  broad,  which 
with  other  and  richer  property,  has  hit  by 
bit,  changed  hands  and  dwindled  away- 
more  's  the  pity  !"  pursued  the  young 
man. 

"  Maybe,"  was  the  reply,  "  But  my 
question  related  to  the  owner.  What  it 
has  been,  1  don't  care  to  know,  and  what 
it  is,  I  can  see  for  myself," 

The  heir-apparent  to  the  Maypole  press- 
ed his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  glancing  at 
the  young  gentleman,  already  noticed,  who 
had  changed  his  attitude,  when  the  house 
was  first  mentioned,  replied  in  a  lower 
tone, 

"The  owner's  name  is  Haredale,  Mr. 
Geoffrey     Haredale,      and"  —  again      he 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


18 


glanced  in  the  same  direction  as  befoie  — 
"  and  a  worthy  <rpntleman,  too — hem  !" 

PayinfT  as  little  reirard  to  this  admoni- 
tory cou<rh,  as  to  the  sin^nificant  gesture 
taat  had  preceded  it,  the  stranger  pursued 
his  questioning. 

"  I  turned  out  of  my  way,  cominor  here, 
and  took  the  footpath  that  crosses  the 
grounds.  Who  was  the  young  lady  that 
I  saw  entering  a  carriage?  His  daugh- 
ter!" 

"  Why,  how  should  T  know,  honest 
man  ■?"  replied  Joe,  contriving  in  the  course 
of  some  arrangements  about  the  hearth, 
to  advance  close  to  his  questioner,  and 
pluck  him  by  the  sleeve,  "  /didn't  see  the 
young  lady,  you  know.  Whew  !  There 's 
the  wind  again  —  and  rain  —  well  it  is  a 
night!" 

"  Rough  weather,  indeed  !"  observed  the 
strange  man. 

"You're  used  to  if?"  said  Joe,  catch- 
ing at  anything  which  seemed  to  promise 
a  diversion  of  the  subject. 

"  Pretty  well,"  returned  the  other. 
"About  the  young  lady  —  has  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  a  daughter?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  young  fellow,  fret- 
fully, "  he 's  a  single  gentleman — he 's — 
be  quiet,  can't  you  man  ?  Don't  you  see 
this  talk  is  not  relished  yonder?" 

Regardless  of  this  whispered  remon- 
strance and  affecting  not  to  hear  it,  his 
tormentor  provokingly  continued  : 

"  Single  men  have  had  daughters  before 
now.  Perhaps  she  may  be  his  daughter, 
though  he  is  not  married." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Joe,  adding 
in  an  under  tone  as  he  approached  him 
again,  "  You  '11  come  in  for  it  presently,  I 
know  you  will !" 

"  I  mean  no  harm" — returned  the  travel- 
ler boldly,  "and  have  said  none  that  I 
know  of.  I  ask  a  few  questions — as  any 
stranger  may,  and  not  unnaturally — about 
the  inmates  of  a  remarkable  house  in  a 
neighbourhood  which  is  new  to  me,  and 
you  are  as  aghast  and  disturbed  as  if  I  were 
talking  treason  anrainst  King  George.  Per- 
haps you  can  tell  me  why,  sir,  for  (as  I 
say)  I  am  a  stranger,  and  this  is  Greek  to 
me?" 

The  latter  observation  was  addressed  to 
the  obvious  cause  of  Joe  Willet's  discom- 
posure, who  had  risen  and  was  adjusting 
his  riding-cloak  preparatory  to  sallying 
abroad.  Brietlv  replying  that  he  could 
give  him  no  information,  the  young  man 
beckoned  to  Joe,  and  handing  him  a  piece 
of  money  in  payment  of  his  rPf"konin(r,  hur- 
ried out  attended  by  y"un<r  Willet  himself, 
•vho  taking  >ip  a  candle  followed  to  light 
l<im  to  the  house  donr. 

While  Joe  was  absen*  on  this  errand,  the 


elder  Willet  and  his  three  companicns  con- 
tinued to  smoke  with  profound  gravity,  and 
in  a  deep  silence,  each  having  his  eyes 
fixed  on  a  huge  copper  boiler  that  was 
suspended  over  the  fire.  After  some  time 
Joe  Willet  slowly  shook  his  head,  and 
thereupon  his  friends  slowly  shook  theirs; 
but  no  man  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the 
boiler,  or  altered  the  solemn  expression  of 
his  countenance  in  the  slightest  degree. 

At  length  Joe  returned  —  very  talkative 
and  conciliatory,  as  though  with  a  strong 
presentiment  that  he  was  going  to  be  found 
fault  with. 

"  Such  a  thing  as  love  is  !"  he  said 
drawing  a  chair  near  the  fire,  and  looking 
round  for  sympathy.  "  He  has  set  off  to 
walk  to  London, — all  the  way  to  London 
His  nag  gone  lame  in  riding  out  here  this 
blessed  afternoon,  and  comfortably  littered 
down  in  our  stable  at  this  minute  ;  and  he 
giving  up  a  good  hot  supper  and  our  best 
bed,  because  Miss  Haredale  has  gone  to  a 
masquerade  up  in  town,  and  he  has  set  his 
heart  upon  seeing  her!  I  don't  think  I 
could  persuade  myself  to  do  that,  beautiful 
as  she  is, — but  then  I  'm  not  in  love,  (at 
least  I  don't  think  I  am,)  and  that's  the 
whole  difference." 

"  He  is  in  love  then  ?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Rather,"  replied  Joe.  "  He  '11  never 
be  more  in  love,  and  may  very  easily  be 
less." 

"  Silence  sir  !"  cried  his  father. 

"  What  a  chap  you  are,  Joe !"  said  Long 
Parkes. 

"  Such  a  inconsiderate  lad !"  murmured 
Tom  Cobb. 

"Putting  himself  forward  and  wringing 
the  very  nose  off  his  own  father's  face  !" 
exclaimed  the  parish  clerk,  metaphorically. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?"  reasoned  poor  Joe. 

"  Silence  sir !"  returned  his  father, 
"what  do  you  mean  by  talking,  when  yo<i 
see  people  that  are  more  than  two  or  tliree 
times  your  age,  sitting  still  and  silent  and 
not  dreaming  of  saying  a  word  ?" 

"Why  that's  the  proper  time  for  me  to 
talk,  isn't  it?"  said  Joe  rebelliously. 

"The  proper  time  sir!"  retorted  his 
father,  "the  proper  time's  no  time." 

"  Ah  to  be  sure !"  muttered  Parkes, 
nodding  gravely  to  the  other  two  who  nod 
ded  likewise,  observing  under  their  breaths 
that  that  was  the  point. 

"The  proper  time's  no  time  sir,"  re- 
peated John  Willet;  "when  I  was  your 
age  I  never  talked,  I  never  wanted  to  talk, 
I  listened  and  improved  myself,  that's 
what  /did." 

!      "And  you'd  find  your  fither  rather  a 
tono-h  customer  in  argeyment,  Joe,  if  any 
I  body  was  to  try  and  tackle  him"  —  said 
,  Parkes. 


14 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"For  the  matter  o'  that,  Phil !"  observed 
Mr.  Willet,  blowing  a  long,  thin,  spiral 
cloud  of  smoke  out  of  tiie  corner  of  his 
mouth,  and  staring  at  it  abstractedly  as  it 
floated  away ;  "  For  the  matter  o'  that, 
Phil,  argeyment  is  a  gift  of  Natur.  If 
Natur  has  gifted  a  man  with  powers  of 
argeyment,  a  man  has  a  right  to  make  the 
best  of  'em,  and  has  not  a  right  to  stand  on 
false  delicacy,  and  deny  that  he  is  so  gifted  ; 
for  that  is  a  turning  of  his  back  on  Natur, 
a  flouting  of  her,  a  slighting  of  her  precious 
caskets,  and  a  proving  of  one's  self  to  be  a 
ewine  that  isn't  worth  her  scattering  pearls 
before." 

The  landlord  pausing  here  for  a  very 
long  time,  Mr.  Parkes  naturally  concluded 
that  he  had  brought  his  discourse  to  an  | 
end ;  and  therefore,  turning  to  the  young  i 
man  with  some  austerity,  exclaimed  : 

"  You  hear  what  your  father  says,  Joe  1  \ 
You  wouldn't  much  like  to  tackle  him  in 
argeyment,  I'm  thinking,  sir." 

"  —  If,"  said  .John  Willet,  turning  his 
eyes  from  the  ceiling  to  the  face  of  his  in-  I 
ternipter,  and  uttering  the  monosyllable  in  j 
capitals,  to  apprise  him  that  he  had  put  in  I 
his  oar,  as  the  vulgar  say,  with  unbecom- 
ing and  irreverent  haste;  "If,  sir,  Natur 
/las  fixed  upon  me  the  gift  of  argeyment, 
why  should  I  not  own  to  it,  and  rather 
glory  in  the  same  ]  Yes  sir,  I  am  a  tough 
customer  that  way.  You  are  right  sir. 
My  toughness  has  been  proved,  sir,  in  this 
room  many  and  many  a  time,  as  I  think 
you  know;  and  if  you  don't  know,"  added 
John,  putting  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  again, 
"  so  much  the  better,  for  I  an't  proud  and 
am  not  going  to  tell  you." 

A  general  murmur  from  his  three  cronies, 
and  a  general  shaking  of  heads  at  the  cop- 
per boiler,  assured  John  Willet  that  they 
had  had  good  experience  of  his  powers  and 
needed  no  further  evidence  to  assure  them 
of  his  superiority.  John  smoked  with  a 
little  more  dignity  and  surveyed  them  in 
silence. 

"It's  all  very  fine  talking,"  muttered 
Joe,  who  had  been  fidgeting  in  his  chair 
with  divers  uneasy  gestures.  "But  if 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I'm  never  to  open 
my  lips — " 

"  Silence  sir !"  roared  his  father.  "  No, 
yeu  never  are.  When  your  opinion's 
wanted,  you  give  it.  When  you  "re  spoke 
to,  you  speak.  When  your  opinion  's  not 
wanted  and  you  're  not  spoke  to,  don't  you 
give  an  opinion  and  don't  you  speak.  The 
world  's  undergone  a  nice  alteration  since 
my  time,  certainly.  My  belief  is  that  there 
an't  any  boys  left — that  there  isn't  such  a 
thing  as  a  boy — that  there 's  nothing  now 
oetween  a  male  baby  and  a  man — and  that 


all  the  boys  went  out  with  bis  blessed 
Majesty  King  George  the  Second." 

"  That 's  a  very  true  observation,  always 
excepting  the  young  princes,"  said  the 
parish-clerk,  who,  as  the  representative  of 
church  and  state  in  that  company,  held 
himself  bound  to  the  nicest  loyalty.  "  If 
it 's  godly  and  rigiiteous  for  boys,  being  of 
the  ages  of  boys,  to  behave  themselves 
like  boys,  then  the  young  princes  must  be 
boys  and  cannot  be  otherwise." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  mermaids, 
sir?"  said  Mr.  Willet. 

"  Certainly  I  have,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Willet.  "Ac- 
cording to  the  constitution  of  mermaids,  so 
much  of  a  mermaid  as  is  not  a  wom^n  must 
be  a  fish.  According  to  the  constitution  of 
young  princes,  so  much  of  a  young  prince 
(if  anything)  as  is  not  actually  an  angel, 
must  be  godly  and  righteous.  Therefore 
if  it's  becoming  and  godly  and  righteous 
in  the  young  princes  (as  it  is  at  their  ages) 
that  they  should  be  boys,  they  are  and  must 
be  boys,  and  cannot  by  possibility  be  any- 
thing else." 

This  elucidation  of  a  knotty  point  being 
received  with  such  marks  of  approval  as  to 
put  John  Willet  into  a  good  humour,  he 
contented  himself  with  repeating  to  his  son 
his  command  of  silence,  and  addressing 
the  stranger,  said  : 

"  If  you  had  asked  your  questions  of  a 
grown-up  person  —  of  me  or  any  of  these 
gentlemen — you  'd  have  had  some  satisfac- 
tion, and  wouldn't  have  wasted  breath. 
Miss  Haredale  is  Mr.  Geoffrey  Haredale's 
niece." 

"Is  her  father  alive?"  said  the  man 
carelessly. 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  landlord,  "he  is  not 
alive,  and  he  is  not  dead — " 

"  Not  dead  !"  cried  the  other. 

"  Not  dead  in  a  common  sort  of  way," 
said  the  landlord. 

The  cronies  nodded  to  each  other,  and 
Mr.  Parkes  remarked  in  an  under  tone, 
shaking  his  head  meanwhile  as  who  should 
say,  "  let  no  man  contradict  me,  for  I  won't 
believe  him,"  that  John  Willet  was  in 
amazing  force  to-night,  and  fit  to  tackle  a 
Chief  Justice. 

The  stranger  suffered  a  short  pause  to 
elapse,  and  then  asked  abruptly,  "  What 
do  you  meanl" 

"  More  than  you  think  for,  friend,"  re- 
turned John  Willet.  "  Perhaps  there 's 
more  meaning  in  them  words  than  you 
suspect." 

"  Perhaps  there  is,"  said  the  strange 
man,  gruffly  ;  "  but  what  the  devil  do  you 
speak  in  such  mysteries  for]  You  tell  me 
first  that  a  man  is  not  alive,  nor  yet  dead — 
then  that  he 's  not  dead  in  a  common  sort 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


15 


of  way — then,  that  you  mean  a  great  deal 
more  than  I  think  for.  To  tell  you  the 
^uth,  you  may  do  that  easily ;  for  so  far 
as  I  can  make  out,  you  mean  nothing. 
What  do  you  mean,  I  ask  again!" 

"That,"  returned  the  landlord,  a  little 
brought  down  from  his  dignity  by  the 
stranger's  surliness,  "  is  a  iNIaypole  story, 
and  has  been  any  time  these  four-and- 
twenty  years.  That  story  is  Solomon 
Daisy's  story.  It  belongs  to  the  house  ; 
and  nobody  but  Solomon  Daisy  has  ever 
told  it  under  this  roof,  or  ever  shall — that 's 
more." 

The  man  glanced  at  the  parish-clerk, 
whose  air  of  consciousness  and  importance 
plainly  betokened  him  to  be  the  person  re- 
ferred to,  and,  observing  that  he  had  taken 
his  pipe  from  his  lips,  after  a  very  long 
whiff  to  keep  it  alight,  and  was  evidently 
about  to  tell  his  story  without  further  so- 
licitation, gathered  his  large  coat  about 
him,  and  shrinking  further  back  was  al- 
most lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  spacious 
chimney  corner,  except  when  the  flame, 
struggling  from  under  a  great  fagot  whose 
weight  almost  crushed  it  for  the  time,  shot 
upward  with  a  strong  and  sudden  glare, 
and  illumining  his  ligure  for  a  moment, 
seemed  afterwards  to  cast  it  into  deeper 
obscurity  than  before. 

By  this  flickering  light,  which  made  the 
old  room,  with  its  heavy  timbers  and  pan- 
elled walls,  look  as  if  it  were  built  of 
polished  ebony  —  the  wind  roaring  aati 
howling  without,  now  rattling  the  latch 
and  creaking  the  hinges  of  the  stout  oaken 
door,  and  now  driving  at  the  casement  as 
though  it  would  beat  it  in — by  this  light, 
and  under  circumstances  so  suspicious, 
Solomon  Daisy  began  his  tale  : 

"It  was  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale,  Mr. 
Geoffrey's  elder  brother — " 

Here  he  came  to  a  dead  stop,  and  made 
so  long  a  pause  that  even  John  Willet 
grew  impatient  and  asked  why  he  did  not 
proceed. 

"Cob,"  said  Solomon  Daisy,  dropping 
his  voice  and  appealing  to  the  post-office 
keeper ;  "  what  day  of  the  month  is  this  ?" 

"  The  nineteenth." 

"  Of  March,"  said  the  clerk,  bending 
forward,  "the  nineteenth  of  March;  that's 
very  strange." 

In  a  low  voice  they  all  acquiesced,  and 
Solomon  went  on : 

"  It  was  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale,  Mr. 
Geoffrey's  elder  brother,  that  twenty-two 
years  ago  was  the  owner  of  the  Warren, 
which,  as  Joe  has  said — not  that  you  re- 
member it,  Joe,  for  a  boy  like  you  can't  do 
that,  but  because  you  have  often  heard  me 
say  so — was  then  a  much  larger  and  better 
place,  and  a  much  more  valuable  property 


than  it  is  now.  His  lady  was  lately  dead 
and  he  was  left  with  one  child — the  Miss 
Haredale  you  have  been  inquiring  about — 
who  was  then  scarcely  a  year  old." 

Although  the  speaker  addressed  hims*^lf 
to  the  man  who  had  shown  so  much  curi- 
osity about  this  same  family,  and  made  a 
pause  here  as  if  expecting  some  exclama- 
tion of  surprise  or  encouragfment,  the 
latter  made  no  remark,  nor  gave  any  in- 
dication that  he  heard  or  was  intereslod  in 
what  was  said.  Solomon  therefore  turned 
to  his  old  companions,  whose  noses  were', 
brightly  illuminated  by  the  deep  red  glow 
from  the  bowls  of  their  pipes;  assured,  by 
long  experience,  of  their  attention,  and  re- 
solved to  show  his  sense  of  such  indecent 
behaviour. 

"  Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Solomon,  turning 
his  back  upon  the  strange  man,  "  left  this 
place  when  his  lady  died,  feeling  it  lonely 
like,  and  went  up  to  London,  where  he 
stopped  some  months;  but  finding  that 
place  as  lonely  as  this — as  I  suppose  and 
have  always  heard  say — he  suddenly  came 
back  again  with  his  little  girl  to  the  War- 
ren, bringing  with  him  besides,  that  day 
only  two  women  servants,  and  his  steward, 
and  a  gardener." 

Mr.  Daisy  stopped  to  take  a  whiff  at 
his  pipe,  which  was  going  out,  and  then 
proceeded — at  first  in  a  snuffling  tone,  oc- 
casioned by  keen  enjoyment  of  the  tobacco 
and  strong  pulling  at  the  pipe,  and  after- 
wards with  increasing  distinctness : 

"  —  Bringing  with  him  two  women  sei- 
vants,  and  his  steward  and  a  gardener 
The  rest  stopped  behind  up  in  London,  and 
were  to  follow  next  day.  It  happened  that 
that  night,  an  old  gentleman  who  lived  at 
Chigwell-row,  and  had  long  been  poorly, 
deceased,  and  an  order  came  i,o  uie  at  hal. 
after  twelve  o'clock  at  night  to  go  and 
toll  the  passing  bell." 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  little  grou]i 
of  listeners,  sufficiently  indicative  of  the 
strong  repugnance  any  one  of  them  would 
have  felt  to  have  turned  out  at  such  a  time 
upon  such  an  errand.  The  clerk  felt  and 
understood  it,  and  pursued  his  theme  ac 
cordingly. 

"  It  was  a  dreary  thing,  especially  as  thu 
grave-digger  was  laid  up  in  his  bed.  from 
long  working  in  a  damp  soil  and  sitting 
down  to  take  his  dinner  on  cold  tomb- 
stones, and  I  was  consequently  under  obli- 
gation to  go  alone,  for  it  was  too  late  to 
hope  to  get  any  other  companion.  How 
ever,  I  wasn't  unprepared  for  it;  as  the  old 
gentleman  had  often  made  it  a  request  that 
the  bell  should  be  tolled  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble after  the  breath  was  out  of  his  bod}/, 
and  he  had  been  expected  to  go  for  some 
days.     I  put  as   good  a  face  upon  it  as  1 


16 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


could,  and  muffling  myself  up  (for  it  was 
mortal  cold),  started  out  with  a  li<rhted 
lantern  in  one  hand  and  the  key  of  the 
church  in  the  other." 

At  this  point  of  the  narrative,  the  dress 
of  the  strange  man  rustled  as  if  he  had 
turned  himself  to  hear  more  distinctly. 
Slightly  pointing  over  his  shoulder,  Solo- 
mon elevated  his  eyebrows  and  nodded  a 
silent  inquiry  to  Joe  whether  this  was  the 
case.  Joe  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand 
and  peered  into  the  corner,  but  could  make 
out  nothing,  and  so  shook  his  head, 

"  It  was  just  such  a  night  as  this  ;  blow- 
ing a  hurricane,  raining  heavily,  and  very 
dark  —  I  often  think  now,  darker  than  I 
ever  saw  it  before  or  since ;  that  may  be  my 
fancy,  but  the  houses  were  all  close  shut 
and  the  folks  in-doors,  and  perhaps  there 
is  only  one  other  man  who  knows  how 
(lark  it  really  was.  I  got  into  the  church, 
chained  the  door  back  so  that  it  should 
keep  ajar — for  to  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't 
like  to  be  shut  in  there  alone — and  putting 
my  lantern  on  the  stone  seat  in  the  little 
corner  where  the  bell-rope  is,  sat  down  be- 
side it  to  trim  the  candle. 

"  I  sat  down  to  trim  the  candle,  and 
when  I  had  done  so,  I  could  not  persuade 
myself  to  get  up  again  and  go  about  my 
work.  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  1 
thought  of  all  the  ghost  stories  I  had  ever 
heard,  even  those  that  I  had  heard  when  1 
was  a  boy  at  school,  and  had  forgotten 
long  ago  ;  and  they  didn't  come  into  my 
nind  one  after  another,  but  all  crowding 
at  once,  like.  I  recollected  one  story  there 
was  in  the  village,  how  that  on  a  certain 
night  in  the  year  (it  might  be  that  very 
night  for  anything  I  knew),  all  the  dead 
people  came  out  of  the  ground  and  sat  at 
the  heads  of  their  own  graves  till  morning. 
This  made  me  think  how  many  people  I 
had  known  were  buried  between  the  church 
door  and  the  churchyard  gate,  and  what  a 
dreadful  thing  it  would  be  to  have  to  pass 
among  them  and  know  them  again,  so 
earthy  and  unlike  themselves.  I  had  known 
all  the  niches  and  arches  in  the  church, 
from  a  child  ;  still  I  couldn't  persuade  my- 
self that  those  were  their  natural  shadows, 
•vhich  I  saw  on  the  pavement,  but  felt  sure 
iherewere  some  ugly  figures  hiding  among 
'em  and  peeping  out.  Thinking  on  in  this 
way,  1  began  to  think  of  the  old  gentle- 
man, wlio  was  just  dead,  and  1  could  have 
sworn,  a!f  1  looked  up  the  dark  chancel, 
'hat  I  saw  him  in  his  usual  place,  wrap- 
ping his  shroud  about  him,  and  shivering 
as  if  he  felt  it  cold.  All  this  time  I  sat 
listening  and  listeninij,  and  hardly  dared 
lo  breathe      At   length  1   started  up   and 


took  the  bell-rope  in  my  hands.  Al  tha 
minute  there  rang — not  that  bell,  for  I  had 
hardly  touched  the  rope — but  another  ! 

"  I  heard  the  ringing  of  another  bell, 
and  a  deep  bell  too,  plainly.  It  was  only 
for  an  instant,  and  even  then  the  wind 
carried  the  sound  away,  but  I  heard  it.  I 
listened  for  a  long  time,  but  it  rang  no 
more.  I  had  heard  of  corjise  candles,  and 
at  last  I  persuaded  myself  that  this  must 
be  a  corpse  bell  tolling  of  itself  at  mid- 
night for  the  dead.  I  tolled  my  bell — how, 
or  how  long,  I  don't  know — and  ran  home 
to  bed,  as  fast  as  I  could  touch  the  ground. 

"  I  was  up  early  next  morning,  after  a 
restless  night,  and  told  the  story  to  my 
neighbours.  Some  were  serious,  and  some 
made  light  of  it:  I  don't  think  anybody 
believed  it  real.  But  that  morning,  Mr. 
Reuben  Haredale  was  found  murdered  in 
his  bed-chamber,  and  in  his  hand  was  a 
piece  of  the  cord  attached  to  an  alarm-bell, 
outside  the  roof,  which  hung  in  his  room, 
and  had  been  cut  asunder,  no  doubt  by  the 
murderer,  when  he  seized  it. 
"That  v.-as  the  bell  I  heard. 

"  A  bureau  was  found  opened,  and  < 
cash-box,  which  iNIr.  Haredale  had  brought 
down  that  day,  and  was  supposed  to  con- 
tain a  large  sum  of  money,  was  gone. 
The  steward  and  gardener  were  both  miss 
ing,  and  both  suspected  for  a  long  time, 
but  they  were  never  found,  though  hunted 
far  and  wide.  And  far  enough  they  might 
have  looked  for  poor  Mr.  Rudge,  the  stew- 
ard, whose  body  —  scarcely  to  be  recog- 
nized, but  by  his  clothes,  and  the  watch 
and  ring  he  wore  —  was  found,  months 
afterwards,  at  the  bottom  of  a  piece  of 
water,  in  the  grounds,  with  a  deep  gash  in 
the  breast,  where  he  had  been  stabbed  with 
a  knife.  He  was  only  partly  dressed  ;  and 
people  all  agreed  that  he  had  been  sitting 
up  reading  in  his  own  room,  where  there 
were  many  traces  of  blood,  and  was  sud- 
denly fallen  upon  and  killed,  before  his 
master. 

"  Everybody  now  knew  that  the  gar- 
dener must  be  the  murderer,  and  though 
he  has  never  been  heard  of,  from  that  time 
to  this,  he  will  be,  mark  my  words.  The 
crime  was  committed  this  day  two-and- 
twenty  years — on  the  nineteenth  of  March', 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty- 
three.  On  the  nineteenth  of  March,  in 
some  year,  no  nintter  when  —  I  know  it,  1 
am  sure  of  it,  for  we  have  always,  in  some 
strange  way  or  otiier,  been  brought  back 
to  the  subject  on  that  day  ever  since — on 
the  nineteenth  of  March,  in  some  year, 
sooner  or  later,  that  man  will  be  discover 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


J7 


CHAPTER  THE  SECOND. 


"  A  STRANGE  Story  !'  said  the  man,  who 
had  been  the  cause  of  the  narration. — 
"  Stranger  still,  if  it  comes  about  as  you 
predict.     Is  that  all  ?" 

A  question  so  unexpected,  nettled  Solo- 
mon Daisy,  not  a  Utile.  By  dint  of  re- 
lating- the  story  very  often,  and  ornament- 
ing it  (according  to  village  report)  with  a 
few  flourishes,  suggested  by  the  various 
hearers,  from  time  to  time,  he  had  come 
by  degrees  to  tell  it  with  great  effect;  and 
"is  tliat  all?"  after  the  climax,  was  not 
what  he  was  accustomed  to. 

"Is  that  all !"  he  repeated,  "yes,  that's 
all,  sir.     And  enough,  too,  I  think." 

"I  think  so  too.  My  horse,  young  man. 
He  is  but  a  hack,  hired  from  a  road-side 
posting  house,  but  he  must  carry  me  to 
London,  to-night." 

"To-night!"  said  Joe. 

"To-night,"  returned  the  other.  "  What 
do  you  stare  at  ]  This  tavern  would  seem 
to  be  a  House  of  Call,  for  all  the  gaping 
idlers  of  the  neighbourhood  !" 

At  this  remark,  which  evidently  had  re- 
ference to  the  scrutiny  he  had  undergone, 
as  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  chapter,  the 
eyes  of  John  Willett  and  his  friends  were 
diverted  with  marvellous  rapidity  to  the 
copper  boiler  again — Not  so  with  Joe,  who 
being  a  mettlesome  fellow,  returned  the 
stranger's  angry  glance  with  a  steady  look, 
and  rejoined  : 

"  It 's  not  a  very  bold  thing  to  wonder 
at  your  going  on  to-night — surely  you  have 
been  asked  such  a  harmless  question  in 
an  inn  before,  and  in  better  weather  than 
this.  1  thought  you  mightn't  know  the 
way,  as  you  seem  strange  to  this  part." 

"  The  way — "  repeated  the  other,  irri- 
tably. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  itl" 

" I'll  —  Humph  !  —  I'll  find  it," replied 
the  man,  waving  his  hand,  and  turning  on 
his  heel.  "  Landlord,  take  the  reckoning 
here." 

John  Willett  did  as  he  was  desired,  for 
on  that  point  he  was  seldom  slow,  except 
in  the  particulars  of  giving  change,  and 
testing  the  goodness  of  any  piece  of  coin 
that  was  proffered  to  him,  by  the  applica- 
tion of  his  teeth  or  his  tongue,  or  some 
other  test,  or  in  doubtful  cases  in  a  long 
series  of  tests,  terminating  in  its  rejection. 
The  guest  then  wrapt  his  garments  about 
him,  so  as  to  shelter  himself  as  effectually 
as  he  could  from  the  rough  weather,  and 


without  any  word  or  sign  of  farewell,  betook 
himself  to  the  stable  yard.  Here  Joe  (who 
had  left  the  room,  on  the  conclusion  of 
their  sliort  dialogue)  was  protecting  him- 
self and  the  horse  from  the  rain,  under  the 
shelter  of  an  old  pent-house  roof. 

"He's  pretty  much  of  my  opinion," 
said  Joe,  patting  the  horse  upon  the  neck ; 
"I'll  wager  that  your  stopping  here,  to- 
night, would  please  him  better  than  it 
would  please  me." 

"  He  and  1  are  of  different  opinions,  as 
we  have  been  more  than  once  on  our  way 
here,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"  So  1  was  thinking,  before  you  cam«! 
out,  for  he  has  felt  your  spurs,  poor  beast." 

The  stranger  adjusted  his  coat-collar 
about  his  face,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  You  '11  know  me  again,  I  see,"  he 
said,  marking  the  young  fellow's  earnest 
gaze,  when  he  had  sprung  into  the  saddle. 

"  The  man 's  worth  knowing,  master, 
who  travels  a  road  he  don't  know,  mount- 
ed on  a  jaded  horse,  and  leaves  good  (juar- 
ters  to  do  it  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"  You  have  sharp  eyes,  and  a  sharp 
tongue,  I  find." 

"  Both  I  hope,  by  nature,  but  tlie  last 
grows  rusty  sometimes,  for  want  of  using." 

"  Use  th«  first  less,  too,  and  keep  tlieir 
sharpness  for  your  sweethearts,  boy,"  said 
the  man. 

So  saying,  he  shook  his  hand  from  the 
bridle,  struck  him  roughly  on  the  head 
with  the  but-end  of  his  whip,  and  gallop- 
ed away ;  dashing  through  the  mud  and 
darkness  with  a  headlong  speed,  which 
few  badly-mounted  horsemen  would  have 
cared  to  venture,  even  had  they  lieen 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  country, 
and  which  to  one  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  way  he  rode,  was  attended  at  every 
step  with  great  hazard  and  danger. 

The  roads,  even  within  twelve  miles  of 
London,  were  at  that  time  ill  paved,  sel 
dom  repaired,  and  very  badly  made.  Tiie 
way  this  rider  traversed,  had  been  plough- 
ed up  by  the  wheels  of  heavy  wagons, 
and  rendered  rotten  by  the  frosts  and 
thaws  of  the  preceding  winter,  or  possibly 
of  many  winters.  Great  holes  and  gaps 
had  worn  into  the  soil,  which  being  now 
filled  with  water  from  the  late  rains,  were 
not  easily  distinguishable,  even  by  day  , 
and  a  plunge  into  any  one  of  them,  niigh 
have  brought  down  a  surer-footed  horse 
than  the  poor  beast  now  urged  forward  to 


IS 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


ihe  utmost  extent  of  his  powers.  Sharp 
flints  and  stones  rolled  from  undor  his 
hoofs  continually ;  the  rider  could  scarcely 
see  beyond  the  animal's  head,  or  further 
on  either  side  than  his  own  arm  would 
have  extended.  At  that  time,  too,  all  the 
roads  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  metro- 
polis, were  infested  by  footnads,  or  high- 
waymen, and  it  was  a  night^  of  all  others, 
in  which  any  evil-disposed  person  of  this 
class,  miglit  have  pursued  his  unlawful 
calling  with  little  fear  of  detection. 

Siill,  the  traveller  dashed  forward  at  the 
same  reckless  pace,  regardless  alike  of  the 
dirt  and  wet  which  flew  about  his  head, 
the  profound  darkness  of  the  night,  and 
the  probability  of  encountering  some  des- 
perate characters  abroad.  At  every  turn 
and  avigle,  even  where  a  deviation  from 
the  direct  course  might  have  been  least 
expected,  and  could  not  possibly  be  seen 
until  he  was  close  upon  it,  he  guided  the 
bridle  with  an  unerring  hand,  and  kept  the 
middle  of  the  road.  Thus  he  sped  on- 
ward, raising  himself  in  the  stirrups,  lean- 
ing his  body  forward  until  it  almost  touch- 
ed the  horse's  neck,  and  flourishing  his 
heavy  whip  above  his  head  with  the  fer- 
Tour  of  a  madman. 

'I'liere  are  times  when  the  elements  be- 
ing in  unusual  commotion,  those  who  are 
bent  on  daring  enterprises,  or  agitated  by 
grea*   thoughts,  whether  of  good  or  evil, 


feel  a  mysterious  sympathy  with  the 
tumult  of  nature,  and  are  roused  into  cor- 
responding violence.  In  the  midst  of 
thunder,  lightning,  and  storm,  many  tre- 
mendous deeds  have  been  committed; 
men,  self-possessed  before,  have  given  a 
sudden  loose  to  passions  they  could  no 
longer  control.  The  demons  of  wrath  and 
despair  have  striven  to  emulate  those  who 
ride  the  whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm; 
and  man,  lashed  into  madness,  with  the 
roaring  winds  and  boiling  waters,  has  be- 
come for  the  time  as  wi)d  and  merciless  as 
the  elements  themselves. 

Whether  the  traveller  was  possessed  by 
thoughts  which  the  fury  of  the  night  had 
heated  and  stimulated  into  a  quicker  cup 
rent,  or  was  merely  impelled  by  some 
strong  motive  to  reach  his  journey's  end, 
on  he  swept  more  like  a  hunted  phantom 
than  a  man,  nor  checked  his  pace  until 
arriving  at  some  cross  roads,  one  of  which 
led  by  a  longer  route  to  the  place  whence 
he  had  lately  started,  he  bore  down  so 
suddenly  upon  a  vehicle,  which  was  com- 
ing towards  him,  thai  in  the  effort  to  avoid 
it,  he  well-nigh  pulled  his  horse  upon  his 
haunches,  and  narrowly  escaped  being 
thrown. 

"Yoho!"  cried  the  voice  of  a  mau. 
"What's  that?  who  goes  there'*" 

"  A  friend  !"  replied  the  traveller. 

"  A  friend  !"  repeated  the  voice.    "  Wb* 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


10 


he  devil  calls  himself  a  friend,  and  rides 
.ike  that,  abusing  Heaven's  gifts  in  the 
shape  of  horseflesh,  and  endangering — not 
only  his  own  neck,  which  might  be  no 
great  matter,  but  the  necks  of  other  peo- 
ple ?" 

"  You  have  a  lantern  there,  I  see,"  said 
the  traveller,  dismounting,  "  lend  it  me  for 
a  moment.  You  have  wounded  my  horse, 
I  think,  with  your  shaft  or  wheel." 

"  Wounded  him  !"  cried  the  other,  "  if 
I  haven't  killed  him,  it's  no  fault  of  yours. 
What  do  you  mean  by  galloping  along  the 
king's  highway  like  that,  eh  T" 

"  Give  me  the  light,"  returned  the  travel- 
ler, snatching  it  from  his  hand,  "  and  don't 
ask  idle  questions  of  a  man  who  is  in  no 
»nood  for  talking." 

"  If  you  had  said  you  were  in  no  mood 
for  talking  before,  I  should  perhaps  have 
been  in  no  mood  for  lighting,"  said  the 
voice, "hows'ever,  as  it's  the  poor  horse 
that 's  damaged,  and  not  you,  one  of  you 
is  welcome  to  the  light  at  all  events  —  but 
it 's  not  the  crusty  one." 

The  traveller  returned  no  answer  to  this 
speech,  but  holding  the  light  near  to  his 
panting  anl  reeking  beast,  examined  him 
in  limb  f.nd  carcase.  Meanwhile  the 
other  man  sat  very  composedly  in  his 
vehicle,  which  was  a  kind  of  chaise,  with 
a  depository  for  a  large  bag  of  tools,  and 
watched  Lis  proceedings  with  a  careful 
eye. 

The  Iwker-on  was  a  round,  red-faced 
sturdy  y^jman,  with  a  double  chin,  and  a 
voice  huniy  with  good  living,  good  sleep- 
ing, gool  humour,  and  good  health.  He 
was  paut  the  prime  of  life,  but  Father 
Time  is  not  always  a  hard  parent,  and 
though  he  tarries  for  none  of  his  children, 
often  iays  his  hand  lightly  upon  those  who 
have  used  him  well ;  making  them  old 
men  and  women  inexorably  enough,  but 
leaving  their  hearts  and  spirits  young,  and 
in  full  vigour.  With  such  people,  the 
grey  head  is  but  the  impression  of  the  old 
fellow's  hand,  in  giving  them  his  blessing, 
and  every  wrinkle  but  a  notch  in  the  quiet 
calendar  of  a  well-spent  life. 

The  person  whom  the  traveller  had  so 
abruptly  encountered,  was  of  this  kind, 
bluff,  hale,  hearty,  and  in  a  green  old  age : 
at  peace  with  himself,  and  evidently  dis- 
posed to  be  so  with  all  the  world.  Al- 
though muffled  up  in  divers  coats  and 
handkerchiefs — one  of  which,  passed  over 
his  crown  and  tied  in  a  convenient  crease 
of  his  double  chin,  secured  his  three-cor- 
nered hat  and  bob-wig  from  blowing  off 
his  head  —  there  was  no  disguising  his 
plump  and  comfortable  figure ;  neither  did 
certain  dirty  finger-marks  upon  his  face, 
(jive  it  any  other  than  an  odd  and  comical  I 


[  expression,  through  which  its  natural  good 
humour  shone  with  undiminished  lustre. 

"  He  is  not  hurt," — said  the  traveller  at 
length,  raising  his  head  and  the  light 
together. 

"  You  have  found  that  out  at  last,  have 
you  ]"  rejoined  the  old  man.  "  My  eyes 
have  seen  more  light  than  yours,  but  I 
wouldn't  change  with  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  V 

"  Mean !  I  could  have  told  you  he  wasn't 
hurt  five  minutes  ago.  Give  me  the  ligiit 
friend  ;  ride  forward  at  a  gentler  pace ;  and 
good  night.*' 

In  handing  up  the  lantern,  the  man 
necessarily  cast  its  rays  full  on  the  speak- 
er's face.  Their  eyes  met  at  the  instant. 
He  suddenly  dropped  it  and  crushed  it 
with  his  foot. 

"  Saw  you  never  a  locksmith  before, 
that  you  start  as  if  you  had  come  upon  a 
ghost]"  cried  the  old  man  in  the  chaise, 
"  or  is  this,"  he  added  hastily,  thrusting 
his  hand  into  the  tool  basket,  and  drawing 
out  a  hammer,  "  a  scheme  for  robbing  me  ] 
I  know  these  roads,  friend.  When  I  travel 
them,  I  carry  nothing  but  a  few  shillings, 
and  not  a  crown's  worth  of  them.  I  tell 
you  plainly,  to  save  us  both  trouble,  that 
there  's  nothing  to  be  got  from  me,  but  a 
pretty  stout  arm,  considering  my  years, 
and  this  tool  which  mayhap  from  long  ac- 
quaintance with,  I  can  use  pretty  briskly. 
You  shall  not  have  it  all  your  own  way,  \ 
promise  you,  if  you  play  at  that  game." 
With  these  words  he  stood  upon  the  de- 
fensive. 

"  I  am  not  what  you  take  me  for,  Gabriel 
Vardon,"  replied  the  other. 

"  Then  what  and  who  are  you  ]"  returned 
the  locksmith.  "  You  know  my  name  it 
seems.     Let  me  know  yours." 

"  I  have  not  gained  the  information  from 
any  confidence  of  yours,  but  from  the  in- 
scription on  your  cart  which  tells  it  to  all 
the  town,"  replied  the  traveller. 

"  You  have  better  eyes  for  that  than  you 
■had  for  your  horse  then,"  said  Vardon,  de- 
scending nimbly  from  his  chaise :  "  who  are 
you  ■?     Let  me  see  your  face." 

While  the  locksmith  alighted,  the  travel- 
ler had  regained  his  saddle,  from  which  he 
now  confronted  the  old  man,  who,  moving 
as  the  horse  moved  in  chafing  under  the 
tightened  rein,  kept  close  beside  him. 

"  Let  me  see  your  face,  I  say." 

"Stand  off!" 

"  No  masquerading  tricks,"  said  thb 
locksmith,  "and  tales  at  the  club  to-mor- 
row how  Gabriel  Vardon  was  frightened 
by  a  surly  voice  and  a  dark  night.  Stand 
— Let  me  see  your  face." 

Finding  that  further  resistance  would 
only  involve  him  in  a  personal  struggle 


20 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


with  an  antagonist  by  no  means  to  be 
despised,  the  traveller  threw  back,  his  coat, 
and  stooping  down  looked  steadily  at  the 
locksmith. 

Perhaps  two  men  more  powerfully  con- 
trasted, never  opposed  each  other  face  to 
face.  The  ruddy  features  of  the  locksmith, 
so  set  off  and  heightened  the  excessive 
pallor  of  the  man  on  horseback  that  he 
looked  like  a  bloodless  ghost,  while  the 
moisture  which  hard  riding  had  brought 
out  upon  his  skin,  hung  there  in  dark  and 
heavy  drops,  like  dews  of  agony  and 
death.  The  countenance  of  the  old  lock- 
smith was  lighted  up  with  the  smile  of 
one  expecting  to  detect  in  this  unpromis- 
ing stranger  some  latent  roguery  of  eye  or 
Jip  which  should  reveal  a  familiar  person 
in  that  arch  disguise,  and  spoil  his  jest. 
The  face  of  the  other,  sullen  and  fierce, 
but  shrinking  too,  was  that  of  a  man  who 
stood  at  bay  ;  while  his  firmly  closed  jaws, 
his  puckered  mouth,  and  more  than  all  a 
certain  stealthy  motion  of  the  hand  within 
his  breast,  seemed  to  announce  a  desperate 
purpose  very  foreign  to  acting,  or  child's 

Thus  they  regarded  each  other  for  some 
time,  in  silence. 

"  Humph  !"  he  said  when  he  had  scan- 
ned his  features ;  •'  I  don't  know  you." 

"  Don't  desire  to  V — returned  the  other, 
muffling  himself  as  before. 

"I  don't,"  said  Gabriel;  "to  be  plain 
with  you,  friend,  you  don't  carry  in  your 
countenance  a  letter  of  recommendation." 

"It's  not  my  wish,"  said  the  traveller. 
"  My  humour  is  to  be  avoided." 

"  Well,"  said  the  locksmith  bluntly,  "I 
think  you  '11  have  your  humour." 

"  I  will,  at  any  cost,"  rejoined  the  travel- 
ler. "  In  proof  of  it,  lay  tliis  to  heart — 
that  you  were  never  in  such  peril  of  your 
life  as  you  have  been  within  these  few 
moments;  when  you  are  within  five  min- 
utes of  breathing  your  last,  you  will  not 
be  nearer  death  than  you  have  been  to- 
night !" 

"Ay!"  said  the  sturdy  locksmith. 

"Ay!  and  a  violent  death." 

"  From  whose  hand  ?" 

"  From  mine,"  replied  the  traveller. 

With  that  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and 
Tode  away ;  at  first  plashing  heavily  through 
the  mire  at  a  smart  trot,  but  gradually  in- 
creasing in  speed  until  the  last  sound  of 
hie  horse's  hoofs  died  away  upon  the  wind, 
when  he  was  again  hurrying  on  at  the  same 
furious  gallop  which  had  been  his  pace 
when  the  locksmith  first  encountered  him. 

Gabriel  Vardon  remained  standing  in 
the  road  with  the  broken  lantern  in  his 
liand  listening  in  stupified  silence  until 
no  sound  reached  his  ear  but  the  moaning 


of  the  wind,  and  the  fast-falling  rain,  when 
he  struck  himself  one  or  two  smart  blows 
in  the  breast  by  way  of  rousing  himself, 
and  broke  into  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  can  this 
fellow  be !  a  madman"?  a  highwayman'?  a 
cut-throat?  If  he  had  not  scoured  off  so 
fast,  we  'd  have  sc^en  who  was  in  most 
danger,  he  or  I.  I  never  nearer  deatli  than 
I  have  been  to-night !  I  hope  I  may  be  no 
nearer  to  it  for  a  score  of  years  to  come — 
if  so,  I  '11  be  content  to  be  no  further  from 
it.  My  stars! — a  pretty  brag  this  to  a 
stout  man — pooh,  pooh  !" 

(iubriel  resumed  his  seat,  and  looking 
wistfully  up  the  road  by  which  the  travel- 
ler had  come,  murmuring  in  a  half  whisper : 

"  The  Maypole — two  miles  to  the  May- 
pole. I  came  the  other  road  from  the 
Warren  after  a  long  day's  work  at  locks 
and  bells,  on  purpose  that  I  should  not 
come  by  the  Maypole  and  break  my  pro- 
mise to  Martha  by  looking  in — there's 
resolution!  It  would  be  dangerous  to  go 
on  to  London  without  a  light,  and  it's  foui 
miles,  and  a  good  half-mile  besides,  to  the 
Halfway-House,  and  between  this  and  that 
is  the  very  place  where  one  needs  a  light 
most.  Two  miles  to  the  Maypole  !  I  told 
Martha  I  wouldn't;  I  said  I  wouldn't,  and 
I  didn't — there's  resolution!" 

Repeatmg  these  two  last  words  very 
often,  as  if  to  compensate  for  the  little 
resolution  he  was  going  to  show  by  piquing 
himself  on  the  great  resolution  be  had 
shown,  Gabriel  Vardon  quietly  turned  back, 
determining  to  get  a  light  at  the  Maypole, 
and  to  take  nothing  but  a  light. 

When  he  got  to  the  Maypole,  however, 
and  Joe  responding  to  his  well-known  hail 
came  running  out  to  the  horse's  head,  leav- 
ing the  door  open  behind  him,  and  disclos- 
ing a  delicious  perspective  of  wannth  and 
brightness — when  the  ruddy  gleam  of  the 
fire  streaming  through  the  old  red  curtains 
of  the  common  room,  seemed  to  brmg  with 
it  as  part  of  itself,  a  pleasant  hum  of  voices, 
and  a  fragrant  odour  of  steaming  grog  and 
rare  tobacco,  all  steeped  as  it  were  in  the 
cheerful  glow — when  the  shadows  flitting 
across  the  curtain,  showed  that  those  inside 
had  risen  from  their  snug  seats,  and  were 
making  room  in  the  snuggest  corner  (how 
well  he  knew  that  corner  !)  for  the  honest 
locksmith,  and  a  broad  glare  suddenly 
streaming  up,  bespoke  the  goodness  of  the 
crackling  log  from  which  a  brilliant  train 
of  sparks  was  doubtless  at  that  moment 
whirling  up  the  chimney  in  honour  of  his 
coming — when,  superadded  to  these  en- 
ticements, there  stole  upon  him  from  the 
distant  kitchen  a  gentle  sound  of  frying, 
with  a  musical  clatter  of  plates  and  dishes, 
and  a  savoury  smel^  that  made  even  the 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


21 


ooisterous  wind  a  perfume,  Gabriel  felt 
nis  firmness  oozimj  rapidly  away.  He 
tried  to  look  stoically  at  the  tavern,  but 
his  features  would  relax  into  a  look  of 
fondness.  He  turned  his  head  the  other 
way,  and  the  cold  black  country  seemed 
to  frown  him  otT,  and  to  drive  him  for  a 
refuge  into  its  hospitable  arms. 

"  The  merciful  man,  Joe,"  said  tbe  lock- 
BTTiith,  "  is  merciful  to  his  beast.  I  '11  get 
out  for  a  little  while." 

And  how  natural  it  was  to  get  out !    And 


how  unnatural  it  seemed  for  a  sober  man 
to  be  plodding  wearily  along  through  miry 
roads,  encountering  the  rude  buffets  of  the 
wind  and  pelting  of  the  rain,  when  tiiere 
was  a  clean  floor  covered  with  crisp  white 
sand,  a  well-swept  hearth,  a  blazing  fire 
a  table  decorated  with  white  cloth,  bright 
pewter  flagons,  and  other  tempting  prepara- 
tions for  a  well-cooked  meal  —  when  there 
were  these  things,  and  company  disposed 
to  make  the  most  of  them  all  ready  to  his 
hand,  and  entreating  him  to  enjoyment ! 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRD. 


Such  were  the  locksmith's  thoughts 
when  first  seated  in  the  snug  corner,  and 
slowly  recovering  from  a  pleasant  defect  of 
vision  —  pleasant,  because  occasioned  by 
the  wind  blowing  in  his  eyes,  which  made 
it  a  matter  of  sound  policy  and  duty  to 
himself,  that  he  should  take  refuge  from 
the  weather,  and  tempted  him  for  the  same 
reason  to  aggravate  a  slight  cough,  and  de- 
clare he  felt  but  poorly.  Such  were  still 
his  thoughts  more  than  a  full  hour  after- 
wards, when,  supper  over,  he  still  sat  with 
shining  jovial  face  in  the  same  warm  nook, 
listening  to  the  cricket-like  chirrup  of  little 
Solomon  Daisy,  and  bearing  no  unimport- 
ant or  slightly  respected  part  in  the  social 
gossip  round  the  Maypole  fire. 

"  I  wish  he  may  be  an  honest  man,  that 's 
all,"  said  Solomon,  winding  up  a  variety 
of  speculations  relative  to  the  stranger, 
concerning  whom  Gabriel  had  compared 
notes  with  the  company,  and  so  raised  a 
grave  discussion;  "/wish  he  may  be  an 
honest  man." 

"  So  we  all  do,  I  suppose,  don't  we  1" 
'observed  the  locksmith. 

"  I  don't,"  said  .Toe. 

"  No  !"  cried  Gabriel. 

"  No.  He  struck  me  with  his  whip,  the 
coward,  when  he  was  mormted  and  1  afoot, 
and  I  should  be  better  pleased  that  he  turn- 
ed out  what  I  think  him." 

"  And  what  may  that  be.  .Toel" 

"  No  good,  Mr.  Vardon.  You  may  shake 
your  head  father,  but  I  say  no  good,  and 
will  say  no  good,  and  I  would  say  no  good 
n  hundred  times  over,  if  that  would  bring 
him  back  to  have  the  drubbing  he  de- 
serves." 

"Hold  your  tongue  sir,"  said  JohnWil- 

"1  won't,  father.  It's  all  along  of  you 
that  he  dared  to  do  what  he  did.  Seeing 
me  treated  like  a  child,  and  put  down  like 
1  fool,  he  plucks  up  a  heart  and  has  a  fling 
at  a  fellow  that  he  thinks  — and  may  well 


think  too  —  hasn't  a  grain  of  spirit.  But 
he's  mistaken  as  I'll  show  him,  and  as 
I  '11  show  all  of  you  before  long." 

"  Does  the  boy  know  what  he  's  a  say- 
ing of!"  cried  the  astonished  John  Willet. 

"  Father,"  returned  Joe,  "  I  know  what 
I  say  and  mean  well  —  better  than  you  do 
when  you  hear  me.  I  can  bear  with  you, 
but  I  cannot  bear  the  contempt  that  your 
treating  me  in  the  way  you  do  brings  upon 
me  from  others  every  day.  Look  at  other 
young  men  of  my  age.  Have  they  no 
liberty,  no  will,  no  right  to  speak'?  Are 
they  obliged  to  sit  mumchance,  and  are 
they  ordered  about  till  they  are  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  young  and  old  ]  I  'm  a  bye- 
word  all  over  Chigwell,  and  I  say — and  it's 
fairer  my  saying  so  now  than  waiting  till 
you  are  dead,  and  1  have  got  your  money — 
I  say  that  before  long  I  shall  be  driven  to 
break  such  bounds  —  and  that  when  1  do, 
it  won't  be  me  that  you  'II  have  to  blame, 
but  your  own  self,  and  no  other." 

John  Willet  was  so  amazed  by  the  exas- 
peration and  boldness  of  his  hopeful  son, 
that  he  sat  as  one  bewildered,  staring  in  a 
ludicrous  manner  at  the  boiler,  and  endfia- 
vouring,  but  quite  ineffectually,  to  collect 
his  tardy  thoughts,  and  invent  an  answer. 
The  guests  scarcely  less  disturbed  were 
equally  at  a  loss,  and  at  length  with  a  va- 
riety of  muttered,  half-expressed  condo- 
lences and  pieces  of  advice,  rose  to  depart, 
being  at  the  same  time  slightly  muddled 
with  liquor. 

The  honest  locksmith  alone  addressed  a 
few  words  of  coherent  and  sensible  advice 
to  both  parties,  urging  John  Willet  to  re- 
member that  Joe  was  nearly  arrived  at 
man's  estate,  and  should  not  be  ruled  with 
too  tight  a  hand,  and  exhorting  Joe  him 
self  to  bear  with  his  father's  caprices  and 
rather  endeavour  to  turn  them  aside  by 
temperate  remonstrance  than  by  ill-timecl 
rebellion.  This  advice  was  received  an 
such  ail  vice  usually  is.     On  John  Wile 


22 


BARNAB  V  RUDGE. 


it  made  almost  as  much  impression  as  on 
the  sign  outside  the  door,  whiU^  Joe,  who 
took  it  in  the  best  part,  avowed  himself 
more  oblifred  than  he  could  well  express, 
but  politely  intimated  his  intention  never- 
theless of  taking  his  own  course  uninflu- 
enced by  anybody. 

"You  have  always  been  a  very  good 
friend  to  me,  Mr.  Vardon,"  he  said,  as  they 
stood  without  the  porch,  and  the  locksmith 
•was  equipping  himself  for  his  journey 
home ;  "  ]  take  it  very  kind  in  you  to  say 
all  this,  but  the  time's  nearly  come  when 
the  Maypole  and  I  must  part  company." 

"Roving  stones  gather  no  moss,  Joe," 
said  Gabriel. 

"Nor  mile-stones  much,"  replied  Joe. 
"  I  'm  little  better  than  one  here,  and  see 
about  as  much  of  the  world." 

"  Then  what  would  you  do,  Joe?"  pur- 
sued the  locksmith,  stroking  his  chin  re- 
flectively. "  What  could  you  be  ?  where 
could  you  go,  you  see?" 

"  I  must  trust  to  chance,  Mr.  Vardon." 

"A  bad  thing  to  trust  to,  Joe.  I  don't 
like  it.  I  always  tell  my  girl,  when  we 
talk  about  a  husband  for  her,  never  to  trust 
to  chance,  but  to  make  sure  beforehand, 
that  she  has  a  good  man  and  true,  and  then 
chance  will  neither  make  her  nor  break 
her.  What  are  you  fidgeting  about  there, 
Joe  1  Nothing  gone  in  the  harness  I  hope  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  said  Joe — finding,  however, 
something  very  engrossing  to  do  in  the 
way  of  strapping  and  buckling  —  "Miss 
Dolly  quite  well  ?" 

"  llearty,  thankye.  She  looks  pretty 
enough  to  be  well,  and  good  too." 

"  She  's  always  both,  sir" — 

"  So  she  is,  thank  God  !" 

"  1  hope" — said  Joe,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, "  that  you  won't  tell  this  story  against 
me, — this  of  my  having  been  beat  like  the 
boy  they  'd  make  of  me, — at  all  events,  till 
I  have  met  this  man  again  and  settled  the 
account — it'll  he  a  better  story  then." 

"Why,  who  should  I  tell  it  to?"  re- 
turned Gabriel.  "  They  know  it  here,  and 
I  'm  not  likely  to  come  across  anybody  else 
who  would  care  about  it." 

"That's  true  enough" — said  the  young 
fellow,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  quite  forgot  that. 
Yes,  that 's  true  !" 

So  saying,  he  raised  his  face,  which  was 
very  red,: — no  doubt  from  the  exertion  of 
strapping  and  buckling  as  aforesaid, — and 
giving  the  reins  to  the  old  man  who  had 
by  this  time  taken  his  seat,  sighed  again 
and  bade  him  good  night. 

"Good  night!"  cried  Gabriel.  "Now 
think  better  of  what  we  have  just  been 
speaking  of,  and  don't  be  nish,  tiiero's  a 
gjud  fellow  :  1  liave  an  interest  in  you,  and 


wouldn't  have  you  cast  yourself  away. 
Good  night !" 

Returning  his  cheery  farewell  with  cor- 
dial good  will,  Joe  Willet  lingered  until 
the  sound  of  wheels  ceased  to  vibrate  in 
his  ears,  and  then  shaking  his  head  mourn- 
fully, re-entered  the  house. 

Gabriel  Vardon  wended  his  way  towards 
London,  thinking  of  a  great  many  things, 
and  most  of  all  of  flaming  terms  in  which 
to  relate  his  adventure,  and  so  account 
satisfactorily  to  Mrs.  Vardon  for  visiting 
the  Maypole,  despite  certain  solemn  cove- 
nants between  himself  and  that  lady. 
Thinking  begets,  not  only  thought  but 
drowsiness  occasionally,  and  the  more  the 
locksmith  thought,  the  more  sleepy  he  be- 
came. 

A  man  may  be  very  sober  —  or  at  least 
firmly  set  upon  his  legs  on  that  neutral 
ground  which  lies  between  the  confines  of 
perfect  sobriety  and  slight  tipsiness  —  and 
yet  feel  a  strong  tendency  to  mingle  up 
present  circumstances  with  others  which 
have  no  manner  of  connection  with  them; 
to  confound  all  consideration  of  persons, 
things,  times,  and  places;  and  to  jumble 
his  disjointed  thoughts  together  in  a  kind 
of  mental  kaleidoscope,  producing  combi- 
nations as  unexpected  as  they  are  transi- 
tory. This  was  Gabriel  Vardon's  state, 
as  nodding  in  his  dog  sleep,  and  leaving 
his  horse  to  pursue  a  road  with  which  he 
was  well  acquainted,  he  got  over  the 
ground  unconsciously,  and  drew  nearer 
and  nearer  home.  He  had  roused  himself 
once  when  the  horse  stopped  until  the  turn- 
pike gate  was  opened,  and  had  cried  a 
lusty  "  good  night"  to  the  toll-keeper,  but 
then  he  woke  out  of  a  dream  about  pick- 
ing a  lock  in  the  stomach  of  the  Great 
Mogul,  and  even  when  he  did  wake,  mix- 
ed up  the  turnpike  man  with  his  mother- 
in-law,  who  had  been  dead  twenty  years. 
It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  he  soon 
relapsed,  and  jogged  heavily  along,  quite 
insensible  to  his  progress. 

And  now  he  approached  the  great  city, 
which  lay  outstretched  before  him  like  a 
dark  shadow  on  the  ground,  reddening  the 
sluggish  air  with  a  deep  dull  light,  that 
told  of  labyrinths  of  public  ways  and 
shops,  and  swarms  of  busy  people.  Ap- 
proaching nearer  and  nearer  yet,  ibis  halo 
began  to  fade  and  the  causes  wliich  pro- 
duced it  slowly  to  develope  themselves. 
Long  lines  of  lighted  streets  might  be 
faintly  traced,  with  here  and  there  a  lighter 
spot  where  lamps  were  clustered  about  a 
square  or  market  or  round  some  great 
building;  after  a  time  these  grew  more 
distinct,  and  the  lamps  themselves  visible 
—  slight  yellow  specks  that  seemed  to  he 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


rapidly  STiuff(>d  out  one  by  one  as  inter- 
vening obaUicles  hid  them  from  the  sight. 
Then  sounds  arose, — the  striking  of  church 
clocks,  tlie  distant  bark  of  dogs,  the  hum 
of  tratlic  in  the  streets ;  then  outlines 
might  be  traced  —  tall  steeples  looming  in 
the  air,  and  piles  of  unequal  roofs  oppress- 
ed by  chimneys  ;  then  the  noise  swelled 
into  a  louder  sound,  and  forms  grew  more 
distinct  and  numerous  still,  and  London — 
visible  in  the  darkness  by  its  own  faint 
light,  and  not  by  that  of  Heaven — was  at 
hand. 

The  locksmith,  however,  all  unconscious 
of  its  near  vicinity,  still  jogged  on,  half 
sleeping  and  half  waking,  when  a  loud 
cry  at  no  great  distance  ahead,  roused  him 
with  a  start. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  looked  about 
him  like  a  man  who  had  been  transported 
to  some  strange  country  in  his  sleep,  but 
soon  recognizing  familiar  objects,  rubbed 
his  eyes  lazily  and  might  have  relapsed 
again,  but  that  the  cry  was  repeated  —  not 
once  or  twice  or  thrice,  but  many  times, 
and  each  time,  if  possible,  with  increased 
vehemence.  Thoroughly  aroused,  Gabriel, 
who  was  a  bold  man  and  not  easily  daunt- 
ed, made  straight  to  the  spot,  urging  on 
his  stout  little  horse  as  if  for  life  or  death. 

The  matter  indeed  looked  suiRciently 
eerious,  for  coming  to  the  place  whence 
the  cries  had  proceeded,  he  descried  the 
figure  of  a  man  extended  in  an  apparently 
lifeless  state  upon  the  pathway,  and  hover- 
ing round  him  another  person  with  a  torch 
in  his  hand,  which  he  waved  in  the  air 
with  a  wild  impatience,  redoubling  mean- 
while those  cries  for  help  which  had 
brought  the  locksmith  to  the  spot. 

"  What 's  here  to  do  V  said  the  old  man, 
alighting.  "  How 's  this — what — Barna- 
by!" 


The  bearer  of  the  torch  shook  his  lOng 
loose  hair  back  from  his  eyes,  and  inrust- 
ing  his  face  eagerly  into  that  of  the  lock- 
smith, fixed  upon  him  a  look  which  told  his 
history  at  once.     He  was  an  idiot. 

"  You  know  me,  Barnabyl"  said  Var- 
don. 

The  idiot  nodded — not  once  or  twice, 
but  a  score  of  times,  and  that  with  a  fan- 
tastic exaggeration  which  would  have  kept 
his  head  in  motion  for  an  hour,  but  that  the 
locksmith  held  up  his  finger  and  fixing  his 
eye  sternly  upon  him  caused  him  to  desist, 
tlien  pointed  to  the  body  with  an  inquiring 
look. 

"There's  blood  upon  him,"  said  Barna- 
by  with  a  shudder.     "  It  makes  me  sick." 

"  How  came  it  there  ?"  demanded  Var- 
don. 

"  Steel,  steel,  steel !"  replied  the  idiot 
fiercely,  imitating  with  his  hand  the  thrust 
of  a  sword. 

"  Is  he  robbed  ]"  said  the  locksmith. 

Barnaby  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and 
nodded  "  Yes ;"  then  pointed  towards  the 
city. 

"  Oh  !"  said  the  old  man,  bending  over 
the  body  and  looking  round  as  he  spoke 
into  Barnaby's  pale  face,  strangely  lighted 
up  by  something  which  was  7iut  intellect. 
"The  robber  made  off  that  way,  did  he! 
Well  well,  never  mind  that  just  now. 
Hold  your  torch  this  way  —  a  little  further 
off — so.  Now  stand  quiet  while  I  try  to 
see  wiiat  harm  is  done." 

With  these  words,  he  applied  himself 
to  a  closer  examination  of  the  prostrate 
form,  while  Barnaby,  holding  the  torch  aa 
he  had  been  directed,  looked  on  in  silence 
fascinated  by  interest  or  curiosity,  but  re 
pelled  nevertheless  by  some  strong  ana 
secret  horror  which  convulsed  him  in  every 
nerve. 


24 


BAR  NAB  Y     RUDGE. 


As  ho  stood  at  that  momrnt,  half  shrink- 
ing bat-ic  and  half  heiulinjr  forward,  both 
liis  face  and  fiGfure  were  i'ull  in  the  strong 
glare  of  the  link,  and  as  distinctly  reveal- 
ed as  thouirh  it  had  been  broad  day.  He 
was  about  three  and  twenty  years  old,  and 
though  rather  spare,  of  a  fair  height  and 
strong  make.  His  hair,  of  which  he  had  a 
great  profusion,  was  red,  and  hanging  in 
disorder  about  his  face  and  shoulders,  gave 
to  his  wild  and  restless  looks  an  expression 
quite  unearthly — enhanced  by  the  paleness 
of  his  complexion  and  the  glassy  lustre  of 
his  large  protruding  eyes.  Startling  as 
his  aspect  was,  the  features  were  good, 
and  there  was  something  plaintive  in  his 
wan  and  haggard  look.  But  the  absence 
of  the  soul  is  far  more  terrible  in  a  living 
man  than  in  a  dead  one,  and  in  this  unfor- 
tunate being  its  noblest  powers  were  want- 
ing. 

His  dress  was  of  green,  clumsily  trim- 
med here  and  there  —  apparently  by  his 
own  hands  —  with  gaudy  lace;  brightest 
where  the  cloth  was  most  worn  and  soiled, 
and  poorest  where  it  was  at  the  best. — 
A  pair  of  tawdry  ruffles  dangled  at  his 
wrists,  while  his  throat  was  nearly  bare. 
He  had  ornamented  his  hat  with  a  cluster 
of  peacock's  feathers,  but  they  were  limp 
and  broken  and  now  trailed  negligently 
down  his  back  ;  girded  to  his  side  was  the 
steel  hilt  of  an  old  sword  without  blade  or 
scabbard  ;  and  some  parti-col ou rod  ends  of 
ribands  and  poor  glass  toys  completed  the  or- 
lamental  portion  of  his  attire.  The  fluttered 
nd  confused  disposition  of  all  tlie  motley 
scraps  that  formed  his  dress,  bespoke  in  a 
scarcely  less  degree  than  his  eager  and 
unsettled  manner,  the  disorder  of  his  mind, 
and  by  a  grotesque  contrast  set  off  and 
heightened  the  more  impressive  wildness 
oi  his  face. 

"Barnaby,"  said  the  locksmith,  after  a 
hasty  but  careful  inspection,  "  this  man  is 
not  dead,  but  he  has  a  wound  in  his  side, 
and  is  in  a  f tinting  fit." 

"1  know  him,  I  know  him!"  cried  Bar- 
naby, clap])ing  his  hands. 

"  Know  him  V  repeated  the  locksmith. 

•'  Hush  !"  said  Barnaby,  laying  his  fin- 


gers on  his  lips.  "  He  went  out  to-day  a 
wooing.  I  wouldn't  for  a  light  guinea 
that  he  should  never  go  a  wooing  again, 
for  if  he  did  some  eyes  would  grow  dim 
that  are  now  as  bright  as — see,  \\hen  I 
talk  of  eyes,  the  stars  come  out  Whose 
eyes  are  they"?  If  thoy  are  angels'  eyes, 
why  do  they  look  down  here  and  see  good 
men  hurt  and  only  wink  and  sparkle  all  the 
night  r' 

"  Now  God  help  this  silly  fellow,"  mur- 
mured the  perplexed  locksmith,  "can  he 
know  this  gentleman  1  His  mother's  house 
is  not  far  off;  I  had  better  see  if  she  can 
tell  me  who  he  is — Barnaby  my  man,  help 
me  to  put  him  in  the  chaise,  and  we  '11  ride 
home  together." 

"  I  can't  touch  him  !"  cried  the  idiot, 
falling  back,  and  shuddering  as  with  a 
strong  spasm  ;  "  he  's  bloody." 

"It's  in  his  nature  I  know,"  muttered 
the  locksmith,  "it's  cruel  to  ask  him,  but 
I  must  have  help — Barnaby — good  Barna- 
by— dear  Barnaby — if  you  know  this  gei>- 
tloman,  for  the  sake  of  his  life  and  every- 
body's life  that  loves  him,  help  me  to  raia* 
him  and  lay  him  down." 

"  Cover  him  up  then,  wrap  him  close — 
don't  let  me  see  it  —  smell  it  —  hear  tLtt 
word.     Don't  speak  the  word — don't!" 

"  No,  no,  I  '11  not.  There,  you  see  he's 
covered  now.  Gently.  Well  done,  well 
done!" 

They  placed  him  in  the  carriage  with 
great  ease,  for  Barnaby  was  strong  and 
active,  but  all  the  time  they  were  so  occu- 
pied he  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  and 
evidently  experienced  such  an  ecstasy  of 
terror  that  the  locksmith  could  scarcely 
endure  to  witness  his  sufforing. 

This  accomplished,  and  the  wounded 
man  being  covered  Avitli  Vardon's  owij 
great-coat,  which  he  took  off  for  the  puii 
pose,  they  proceeded  onwards  zt  a  brisk 
pace :  Barnaby  gaily  counting  the  stars 
upon  his  fingers,  and  Gabriel  inwardly 
congratulating  himself  upon  having  an 
'  adventure  now  which  would  silence  Mrs. 
I  Vardon  upon  the  subject  of  the  Maypole 
for   that   niffht,  or  theie  was  no   faHh   m 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


25 


CHAPTER  THE  FOURTH. 


In  the  venerable  suburb— it  was  a  suburb 
rnoe  —  of  Clerkenwell,  towards  that  part 
of  Its  confines  which  is  nearest  to  the 
Charter  House,  and  in  one  of  those  cool, 
shady  streets,  of  which  a  few,  widely 
scattered  and  dispersed,  yet  remain  in  such 
old  parrs  of  the  metropolis,  —  each  tene- 
ment quietly  vegetating  like  an  ancient 
citizen  who  long  ago  retired  from  busi- 
ness, and  dozing  on  in  its  infirmity  until  in 
course  of  time  it  tumbles  down,  and  is  re- 
placed by  some  extravagant  young  heir, 
flaunting  in  stucco  and  ornamental  work, 
and  all  the  vanities  of  modern  days,  —  in 
this  quarter,  and  in  a  street  of  this  descrip- 
tion, the  business  of  the  present  chapter 
lies. 

At  the  time  of  which  it  treats,  though 
only  six-and-sixty  j'ears  ago,  a  very  large 
part  of  what  is  London  now  had  no  exist- 
ence. Even  in  the  brains  of  the  wildest 
speculators,  there  had  sprung  up  no  long 
rows  of  streets  Connecting  Ilighgate  with 
Whitechapel,  no  assemblages  of  palaces 
in  the  swampy  levels,  nor  little  cities  in 
the  open  fields.  Although  this  part  of 
town  was  then,  as  now,  parcelled  out  in 
streets  and  plentifully  peopled,  it  wore  a 
diflferent  aspect.  There  were  gardens  to 
many  of  the  houses,  and  trees  by  the  pave- 
ment side;  with  an  air  of  freshness  breath- 
ing up  and  down,  which  in  these  days 
would  be  sought  in  vain.  Fields  were 
nigh  at  hand,  through  which  the  New 
River  took  its  winding  course,  and  where 
there  was  merry  hay-making  in  the  sum- 
mer time.  Nature  was  not  so  far  removed 
or  hard  to  get  at  as  in  these  days ;  and  al- 
though there  were  busy  trades  in  Clerken- 
well,  and  working  jewellers  by  scores,  it 
was  a  purer  place,  with  farm-houses  nearer 
to  it  than  many  modern  Londoners  would 
readily  believe;  and  lovers'  walks  at  no 
great  distance,  which  turned  into  squalid 
courts,  long  before  the  lovers  of  this  age 
were  born,  or,  as  the  phrase  goes,  thought  of. 

In  one  of  these  streets,  the  cleanest  of 
«nem  all,  and  on  the  shady  side  of  the  way 
— for  good  housewives  know  that  sunlight 
damages  their  cherished  furniture,  and  so 
choose  the  shade  rather  than  its  intrusive 
glare  —  there  stood  the  house  with  which 
we  have  to  deal.  It  was  a  modest  build- 
ing, not  over-newly  fashioned,  not  very 
straight,  not  large,  not  tall ;  not  bold-faced, 
with  great  staring  windows,  but  a  shy, 
blinking  house,  with  a  conical  roof  sroing 
up   Jcto  a  peak   over  its  garret  window 


of  four  small  panes  of  glass,  like  a  cocked 
hat  on  the  head  of  an  elderly  gentleman 
with  one  eye.  It  was  not  built  of  brick 
or  lofty  stone,  but  of  wood  and  plaster ; 
it  was  not  planned  with  a  dull  and  weari- 
some regard  to  regularity,  for  no  one  win- 
dow matched  the  other,  or  seemed  to  have 
the  slightest  reference  to  anything  besides 
itself. 

The  shop — for  it  had  a  shop — was,  with 
reference  to  the  first  floor,  where  shops 
usually  are ;  and  there  all  resemblance 
between  it  and  any  other  shop  stopped 
short  and  ceased.  People  who  went  in 
and  out  didn't  go  up  a  flight  of  steps  to  it, 
or  walk  easily  in  upon  a  level  with  the 
street,  but  dived  down  three  steep  stairs, 
as  into  a  cellar.  Its  floor  was  paved  with 
stone  and  brick,  as  that  of  any  other  cellar 
miijht  be  ;  and  in  lieu  of  window  framed 
and  glazed  it  had  a  great  black  wooden 
flap  or  shutter,  nearly  breast  high  from  the 
ground,  which  turned  back  in  the  day- 
time, admitting  as  much  cold  air  as  light, 
and  very  often  more.  Behind  this  shop 
was  a  wainscoted  parlour,  looking  first 
into  a  paved  yard,  and  beyond  that  again 
into  a  little  terrace  garden,  raised  some 
few  feet  above  it.  Any  stranger  would 
have  supposed  that  this  wainscoted  par- 
lour, saving  for  the  door  of  communication 
by  which  he  had  entered,  was  cut  off  and 
detached  from  all  the  world ;  and  indeed 
most  strangers  on  their  first  entrance  were 
observed  to  ofrow  extremely  thoughtful,  as 
weighing  and  pondering  in  their  minds 
whether  the  upper  rooms  were  only  ap- 
proachable by  ladders  from  without ;  never 
suspecting  that  two  of  the  most  unassum- 
ing and  unlikely  doors  in  existence,  which 
the  most  ingenious  mechanician  on  earth 
must  of  necessity  have  supposed  to  be  the 
doors  of  closets,  opened  out  of  this  room — 
each  without  the  smallest  preparation,  or 
so  much  as  a  quarter  of  an  inch  of  passage 
— upon  two  dark  winding  flights  of  stairs, 
the  one  upward,  the  other  downward ; 
which  were  the  sole  means  of  communi- 
cation between  that  chamber  and  the  othei 
portions  of  the  house. 

With  all  these  oddities,  there  was  not  a 
neater,  more  scrupulously  tidy,  or  more 
punctiliously  ordered  house,  in  Clerken 
well,  in  London,  in  all  England.  There 
were  not  cleaner  windows,  or  whiter  floors, 
or  brighter  stoves,  or  more  highly  shininy 
articles  of  furniture  in  old  mahooany  ; 
there  was   not  more  rubbing,  scriiubing 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


burnishing  and  polishing,  in  the  whole 
strcot  put  together.  Nor  was  this  excel- 
.ence  attained  without  some  cost  and 
trouble  and  great  expenditure  of  voice,  as 
the  neighbours  were  frequently  reminded 
when  tiie  good  lady  of  the  house  overlook- 
ed and  assisted  in  its  being  put  to  rights 
on  cleaning  days ;  which  were  usually 
from  Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night, 
both  days  inclusive. 

Leaninor  against  the  door-post  of  this, 
his  dwelling,  the  locksmith  stood  early  on 
the  morning  after  he  had  met  with  the 
wounded  man,  gazing  disconsolately  at  a 
great  wooden  emblem  of  a  key,  painted  in 
vivid  yellow  to  resemble  gold,  which 
dangled  from  the  house-front,  and  swung 
to  and  fro  with  a  mournful  creaking  noise, 
as  if  complaining  that  it  had  nothing  to  un- 
lock. Sometimes  he  looked  over  his  shoul- 
der into  the  shop,  which  was  so  dark  and 
dingy  with  numerous  tokens  of  his  trade, 
and  so  blackened  by  the  smoke  of  a  little 
forge,  near  which  his  'prentice  was  at 
work,  that  it  would  have  been  difficult  for 
one  unused  to  such  espials  to  have  distin- 
guished anything  but  various  tools  of  un- 
couth make  and  shape,  great  bunches  of 
rusty  keys,  fragments  of  iron,  half-finished 
locks,  and  such-like  things,  which  garnish- 
ed the  walls  and  hung  in  clusters  from 
the  ceiling. 

After  a  long  and  patient  contemplation 
of  the  golden  key,  and  many  such  back- 
ward glances,  Gabriel  stepped  into  the 
road  and  stole  a  look  at  the  upper  windows. 
One  of  them  chanced  to  be  thrown  open  at 
the  moment,  and  a  roguish  face  met  his ; 
a  face  lighted  up  by  the  loveliest  pair  of 
sparkling  eyes  that  ever  locksmith  looked 
upon;  the  face  of  a  pretty,  laughing,  girl ; 
dimpled  and  fresh,  and  healthful — the  very 
impersonation  of  good-humour  and  bloom- 
ing beauty. 

•'  Hush  !"  she  whispered,  bending  for- 
ward, and  pointing  archly  to  the  window 
underneath.     "  INIother  is  still  asleep." 

"  Still,  my  dear !"  returned  the  locksmith 
in  the  same  tone.  "  You  talk  as  if  she 
had  been  asleep  all  night,  instead  of  little 
more  than  half  an  hour.  But  I  'm  very 
thankful.  Sleep's  a  blessing  —  no  doubt 
about  it."  The  last  few  words  he  mutter- 
ed to  himself. 

"  How  cruel  of  you  to  keep  us  up  so 
late  this  morning,  and  never  tell  us  where 
you  were,  or  send  us  word  !"  said  the  girl. 

"  Ah  Dolly,  Dolly  !"  returned  the  lock- 
smith, shaking  his  head,  and  smiling, 
"how  cruel  of  you  to  runup  stairs  to  bed  ! 
Come  down  to  breakfast,  madcap,  and 
ronie  down  lightly,  or  you'll  wake  your 
mother.  She  must  be  tired,  I  am  sure — / 
am !" 


Keeping  these  latter  words  to  himself 
and  returning  his  daughter's  nod,  he  was 
passing  into  the  workshop,  with  the  smile 
she  had  awakened  still  beaming  on  his 
face,  when  he  just  caught  sight  of  his 
'prentice's  brown-paper  cap  ducking  down 
to  avoid  observation,  and  shrinking  from 
the  window  back  to  its  former  place,  which 
the  wearer  no  sooner  reached  than  he  be- 
gan to  hammer  lustily. 

"  Listening  again,  Simon!"  said  Gabriel 
to  himself.  "That's  bad.  What  in  the 
name  of  wonder  does  he  expect  the  girl  to 
say,  that  1  always  catch  him  listening  when 
she  speaks,  and  never  at  any  other  time ' 
A  bad  habit,  Sim,  a  sneaky,  underhanded 
way.  Ah  !  you  may  hammer,  but  you 
won't  beat  that  out  of  me,  if  you  work  at 
it  till  your  time's  up  !" 

So  saying,  and  shaking  his  head  grave- 
ly, he  re-entered  the  workshop,  and  con- 
fronted the  subject  of  these  remarks. 

"There's  enough  of  that  just  now," 
said  the  locksmith,  "  You  needn't  make 
any  more  of  that  confounded  clatter. 
Breakfast 's  ready." 

"  Sir,"  said  Sim,  looking  up  with  amaz- 
ing politeness,  and  a  peculiar  little  bow 
cut  short  off  at  the  neck,  "I  shall  attend 
you  immediately." 

"I  suppose,"  muttered  Gabriel,  "that's 
out  of  the  'Prentice's  Garland,  or  the 
'Prentice's  Delight,  or  the  'Prentice's 
Warbler,  or  the  'Prentice's  Guide  to  the 
Gallows,  or  some  such  improving  text- 
book. Now  he's  going  to  beautify  him- 
self— here's  a  precious  locksmith!" 

Quite  unconscious  that  his  master  was 
looking  en  from  the  dark  corner  by  the 
parlour  door,  Sim  threw  otf  the  paper  nap, 
sprang  from  his  seat,  and  in  two  extraordi- 
nary steps,  something  between  skating  and 
minuet  dancing,  bounded  to  a  washing 
place  at  the  other  end  of  the  shop,  and 
there  removed  from  his  face  and  hands  all 
traces  of  his  previous  work — practising  the 
same  step  all  the  time  with  the  utmost 
gravity.  This  done,  he  drew  from  some 
concealed  place  a  little  scrap  of  looking- 
glass,  and  with  its  assistance  arranged  his 
iiair,  and  ascertained  the  exact  state  of  a 
little  carbuncle  on  his  nose.  Having  now 
completed  his  toilet,  he  placed  the  frag- 
ment of  mirror  on  a  low  bench,  and  looked 
over  his  shoulder  at  so  much  of  liis  legs 
as  could  be  reflected  in  that  small  compass, 
with  the  greatest  possible  complacency  and 
satisfaction. 

Sim,  as  he  was  called  in  the  locksmith's 
family,  or  Mr.  Simon  Tappertit,  as  he  call- 
ed himself,  and  required  all  men  to  style 
him  out  of  doors,  on  holidays,  and  Sun- 
days out,  was  an  old-fashioned,  thin-faced, 
sleek-haired,  sharp-nosed,  smal'-*>yed  lit* 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


27 


lie  follow,  very  little  more  than  five  feet 
hlg>i,  and  thoroughly  convinced  in  his  own 
mind  that  he  was  above  the  middle  size; 
rathcT  tall,  in  fact,  than  otherwise.  Of 
his  fiornre,  which  was  well  enough  formed, 
though  somewhat  of  the  leanest,  he  enter- 
tained the  highest  admiration;  and  with 
his  legs,  which,  in  knee-breeches,  were 
perfect  curiosities  of  littleness,  he  was  en- 
raptured to  a  degree  amounting  to  enthusi- 
asm. He  also  had  some  majestic,  shadowy 
ideas,  which  had  never  been  quite  fathomed 
by  his  most  intimate  friends,  concerning 
the  power  of  his  eye.  Indeed  he  had  been 
known  to  go  so  far  as  to  boast  that  he  could 
utterly  quell  and  subdue  the  haughtiest 
beauty  by  a  simple  process,  which  he  term- 
ed "eyeing  her  over;"  but  it  must  be  add- 
ed, that  neither  of  this  faculty,  nor  of  the 
power  he  claimed  to  have,  through  the  same 
gift,  of  vanquishing  and  heaving  down 
dumb  animals,  even  in  a  rabid  state,  had 
he  ever  furnished  evidence  which  could  be 
deemed  quite  satisfactory  and  conclusive. 

It  may  be  inferred  from  these  premises, 
that  in  the  small  body  of  Mr.  Tappertit 
there  was  locked  up  an  ambitious  and  as- 
piring soul.  As  certain  liquors,  confined 
in  casks  too  cramped  in  their  dimensions, 
■will  ferment,  and  fret,  and  chafe  in  their 
imprisonment,  so  the  spiritual  essence  or 
soul  of  Mr.  Tappertit  would  sometimes 
fume  within  that  precious  cask,  his  body, 
until,  with  great  foam  and  froth  and  splut- 
ter, it  would  force  a  vent,  and  carry  all 
before  it.  It  was  his  custom  to  remark,  in 
reference  to  any  one  of  these  occasions,  that 
his  soul  had  got  into  his  head  ;  and  in  this 
novel  kind  of  intoxication  many  scrapes  and 
mishaps  befel  him,  which  he  had  frequent- 
ly concealed  with  no  small  dilHculty  from 
his  worthy  master. 

Sim  Tappertit,  among  the  other  fancies 
upon  which  his  before-mentioned  soul  was 
for  ever  feasting  and  regaling  itself,  (and 
which  fancies,  like  the  liver  of  Prome- 
theus, grew  as  they  were  fed  upon,)  had  a 
mighty  notion  of  his  order;  and  had  been 
heard  by  the  servant-maid  openly  express- 
ing his  regret  that  the  'prentices  no  longer 
carried  clubs  wherewith  to  mace  the  citi- 
zens: that  was  his  strong  expression.  He 
was  likewise  reported  to  have  said,  that  in 
former  times  a  stigrma  had  been  cast  upon 
the  body  by  the  execution  of  George  Cam- 
well,  to  which  they  should  not  have  base- 
ly submitted,  hut  should  have  demanded 
him  of  the  legislature — temperately  at  first : 
then  by  an  appeal  to  arms,  if  necessary — 
to  be  dealt  with  as  they  in  their  wisdom 
might  think  fit.  These  thoughts  always 
led  him  to  consider  what  a  glorious  entjine 
the  'prentices   might  yet  become  if  they 


had  but  a  master  spirit  at  their  head  ;  and 
then  he  would  darkly,  and  to  the  terror  of 
his  hearers,  hint  at  certain  reckless  fellows 
that  he  knew  of,  and  at  a  certain  Lion 
Heart  ready  to  become  their  captain,  who, 
once  afoot,  would  make  the  Lord  Mayor 
tremble  on  his  throne. 

In  respect  of  dress  and  personal  decora- 
tion, Sim  Tappertit  was  no  less  of  an  ad- 
venturous and  enterprising  character.  He 
had  been  seen,  beyond  dispute,  to  pull  off 
rufiles  of  the  finest  quality  at  the  corner  of 
the  street  on  Sunday  nights,  and  to  put 
them  carefully  in  his  pocket  before  return- 
ing home  ;  and  it  was  quite  notorious  that 
on  all  great  holiday  occasions  it  was  his 
habit  to  exchange  his  plain  steel  knee- 
buckles  for  a  pair  of  glittering  paste,  under 
cover  of  a  friendly  post,  planted  most  con- 
veniently in  that  same  spot.  Add  to  this 
that  he  was  in  years  just  twenty,  in  his 
looks  much  older,  and  in  conceit  at  least 
two  hundred  ;  that  he  had  no  objection  to 
be  jested  with  touching  his  admiration  of 
his  master's  daughter  ;  and  had  even,  when 
called  upon  at  a  certain  obscure  tavern  to 
pledge  the  lady  whom  he  honoured  with 
his  love,  toasted,  with  many  winks  and 
leers,  a  fair  creature  whose  Christian  name, 
he  said,  began  with  a  D —  ; — and  as  much 
is  known  of  Sim  Tappertit,  who  has  by 
this  time  followed  the  locksmith  into  break- 
fast, as  is  necessary  to  be  known  in  mak- 
ing his  acquaintance. 

It  was  a  substantial  meal ;  for  over  and 
above  the  ordinary  tea  equipage,  the  board 
creaked  beneath  the  weight  of  a  jolly 
round  of  beef,  a  ham  of  the  first  magni- 
tude, and  sundry  towers  of  buttered  York- 
shire cake,  piled  slice  upon  slice  in  most 
alluring  order.  There  was  also  a  goodly 
jug  of  well-browned  clay,  fashioned  into 
the  form  of  an  old  gentleman,  not  by  any 
means  unlike  the  locksmith,  atop  of  whose 
bald  head  was  a  fine  white  froth  answer- 
ing to  his  wig,  indicative,  beyond  dispute, 
of  sparkling  home-brewed  ale.  But  bet- 
ter far  than  fair  home-brewed,  or  York 
shire  cake,  or  ham,  or  beef,  or  anything  to 
eat  or  drink  that  earth  or  air  or  water  can 
supply,  there  sat,  presiding  over  all,  the 
locksmith's  rosy  daughter,  before  whos«i 
dark  eyes  even  beef  grew  insignificant,  and 
malt  became  as  nothing. 

Fathers  should  never  kiss  their  daugh- 
ters when  young  men  are  by.  It's  too 
much.  There  are  bounds  to  human  endu- 
rance. So  thought  Sim  Tappertit  when 
Gabriel  drew  those  rosy  lips  to  his — those 
lips  within  Sim's  reach  from  day  to  day, 
and  yet  so  far  oiT.  He  had  a  respect  for 
his  master,  but  he  wished  the  Yorkshire 
cake  might  choke  him. 


28 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  Father,"  said  the  locksmith's  daugh- 
ter, when  this  salute  was  over,  and  they 
took  their  seats  at  table,  "  what  is  tliis  1 
hear  about  last  night !" 

"  All  true,  my  dear,  true  as  the  Gospel, 
Doll." 

"  Young  Mr.  Chester  robbed,  and  lying 
wounded  in  tlie  road,  when  you  came  up'?" 

"Ay — Mr.  Edward.  And  beside  him, 
Barnaby,  calling  for  help  with  all  his  might. 
It  was  well  it  happened  as  it  did  ;  for  the 
road 's  a  lonely  one,  the  hour  was  late,  and, 
the  night  being  cold,  and  poor  Barnaby 
even  less  sensible  than  usual  from  surprise 
and  fright,  the  young  gentleman  might 
have  met  his  death  in  a  very  short  time." 

"  I  dread  to  think  of  it !"  cried  his  daugh- 
ter with  a  shudder.  "  How  did  you  know 
him  1" 

"Know  him!"  returned  the  locksmith. 
"  I  didn't  know  him — how  could  HI  had 
never  seen  him,  often  as  I  had  heard  and 
spoken  of  him.  Itook  him  to  Mrs.  Kudge's; 
and  she  no  sooner  saw  him  than  the  truth 
came  out." 

"Miss  Emma,  father  —  if  this  news 
should  reach  her,  enlarged  upon  as  it  is 
sure  to  be,  she  will  go  distracted." 

"  W  hy,  lookye  there  again,  how  a  man 
suffers  for  being  good-natured,"  said  the 
locksmith.  "  Miss  Emma  was  with  her 
uncle  at  the  masquerade  at  Carlisle  House, 
where  she  had  gone,  as  the  people  at  the 
Warren  told  me,  sorely  against  her  will. 
"What  does  your  blockhead  father  when  he 
and  Mrs.  Rudge  have  laid  their  heads  to- 
gether, but  goes  there  when  he  ought  to 
be  abed,  makes  interest  with  his  friend  the 
doorkeeper,  slips  him  on  a  mask  and  domi- 
no, and  mixes  with  the  masquers." 

"And  like  himself  to  do  so  !"  cried  the 
girl,  putting  her  fair  arm  round  his  neck, 
and  giving  him  a  most  enthusiastic  kiss. 

"Like  himself!"  repeated  Gabriel,  af- 
fecting to  grumble,  but  evidently  delighted 
with  the  part  he  had  taken,  and  with  her 
praise.  "  Very  like  himself — so  your  mo- 
ther said.  However,  he  mingled  with  the 
crowd,  and  prettily  worried  and  badgered 
he  was,  I  warrant  you,  with  people  squeak- 
ing, 'don't  you  know  meV  and  'I've 
found  you  out,'  and  all  that  kind  of  non- 
sense in  his  ears.  He  might  have  wan- 
dered on  till  now,  but  in  a  little  room  there 
was  a  young  lady  who  had  taken  off  her 
mask,  on  account  of  the  place  being  very 
•warm,  and  was  sitting  there  alone." 

"  And  that  was  she  1"  said  his  daugh- 
ter hastily. 

"And  that  was  she,"  replied  the  lock- 
smith ,  and  T  no  sooner  whispered  to  her 
what  the  matter  was — as  softly,  Doll,  and 
with  nearly  as  much  art  as  you  could  have 


used  yourself — than  she  gives  a  kind  of 
scream  and  faints  away." 

"What  did  you  do  —  what  happened 
next?"  asked  his  daughter. 

"Why,  the  masks  came  flocking  round, 
with  a  general  noise  and  hubbub,  and  I 
thought  myself  in  luck  to  get  clear  off, 
that 'sail,"  rejoined  the  locksmith.  "What 
happened  when  I  reached  home  you  may 
guess,  if  you  didn't  hear  it.  Ah!  Well- 
it's  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices. — Put 
Toby  this  way,  my  dear." 

This  Toby  was  the  brown  jug  of  which 
previous  mention  has  been  made.  Apply- 
ing his  lips  to  the  worthy  old  gentleman's 
benevolent  forehead,  the  locksmith,  who 
had  all  this  time  been  ravaging  among  the 
eatables,  kept  them  there  so  long,  at  the 
same  time  raising  the  vessel  slowly  in  the 
air,  that  at  length  Toby  stood  on  his  head 
upon  his  nose,  when  he  smacked  his  lips, 
and  set  him  on  the  table  again  with  fond 
reluctance. 

Although  Sim  Tappertit  had  taken  no 
share  in  this  conversation,  no  part  of  it  be- 
ing addressed  to  him,  he  had  not  been 
wanting  in  such  silent  manifestations  of 
astonishment,  as  he  deemed  most  compati- 
ble with  the  favourable  display  of  his  eyes. 
Regarding  the  pause  which  now  ensued, 
as  a  particularly  advantageous  opportunity 
for  doing  great  execution  with  them  upon 
the  locksmith's  daughter  (who  he  had  no 
doubt  was  looking  at  him  in  mute  admira- 
tion), he  began  to  screw  and  twist  his  face, 
and  especially  those  features,  into  such  ex- 
traordinary, hideous,  and  unparalleled  con- 
tortions, that  Gabriel,  who  happened  to 
look  towards  him,  was  stricken  with  amaze- 
ment. 

"  Why,  what  the  devil 's  the  matter  with 
the  lad  !"  cried  the  locksmith.  '■  Is  he 
choking?" 

"Who?"  demanded  Sim,  with  some 
disdain. 

"  Who  ?  why,  you,"  returned  his  master. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  making  those  hor- 
rible faces  over  your  breakfast?" 

"  Faces  are  matters  of  taste,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  rather  discomfited ;  not  the 
less  so  because  he  saw  the  locksmith's 
daughter  smiling — 

"  Sim,"  rejoined  Gabriel,  laughing  hear- 
tily—  "  Don't  be  a  fool,  for  I  'd  rather  see 
you  in  your  senses — These  young  fellows,'' 
he  added,  turning  to  his  daughter,  "are 
always  committing  some  folly  or  another — 
There  was  a  quarrel  between  Joe  Willet 
and  old  John  last  night — though  I  can't 
say  Jv.<'  was  much  in  fault  either — He'll 
be  missing  one  of  these  mornings,  and  will 
have  gone  away  upon  some  wild-goose 
errand,  seeking  his  fortune. — Why,  what's 


barnaby    rudge. 


the  matter,  Doll  1  You  are  makinor  faces 
now.  The  girls  are  as  bad  as  the  boys 
every  bit !" 

"  It's  the  tea,"  said  Dolly,  turning  alter- 
nately very  red  and  very  white,  which  is 
no  doubt  the  effect  of  a  slight  scald — "  so 
very  hot." 

Mr.  Tappertit  looked  immensely  bio-  at 
a  quartern  loaf  on  the  table  and  breathed 
bard — 

"  Is  that  all  ]"  returned  the  locksmith. 
"  Put  some  more  milk  in  it.  Yes,  I  am 
sorry  for  Joe,  because  he  is  a  likely  young 
fellow,  and  ffains  upon  one  every  time  one 
sees  him.  But  he  '11  start  off  you  '11  find — 
Indeed  he  told  me  as  much  himself!" 

•'  Indeed  !"  cried  Dolly  in  a  faint  voice. 
"In — deed !" 

"  Is  the  tea  tickling  your  throat  still,  my 
dear"!"  said  the  locksmith. 

But  before  his  daughter  could  make  him 
any  answer,  she  was  taken  with  a  trouble- 
some cough,  and  it  was  such  a  very  un- 
pleasant cough,  that  when  she  left  off  the 
tears  were  starting  in  her  bright  eyes.  The 
good-natured  locksmith  was  still  patting 
her  on  the  back  and  applying  such  gentle 
restoratives,  when  a  message  arrived  from 


I\Irs.  Varden,  making  known  to  all  whom 
it  might  concern,  that  she  felt  too  much  in- 
disposed to  rise  after  her  great  agitation 
and  anxiety  of  the  previous  night;  and 
therefore  desired  to  be  immediately  accom- 
modated with  the  little  black  tea-pot  of 
shong  mixed  tea,  a  couple  of  rounds  of 
buttered  toast,  a  middling-sized  dish  of 
beef  and  ham  cut  thin,  and  the  Protes-tant 
Manual  in  two  volumes  post-octavo.  Like 
some  other  ladies  who  in  remote  ages 
flourished  upon  this  globe,  Mrs.  Varden 
was  most  devout  when  most  ill-tempered. 
Whenever  she  and  her  husband  were  at 
unusual  variance,  then  the  Protestant  Ma- 
nual was  in  high  feather. 

Knowing  from  experience  what  these 
requests  portended,  the  triumvirate  broke 
up :  Dolly  to  see  the  orders  executed  with 
all  despatch  ;  Gabriel  to  some  out-of-door 
work  in  his  little  chaise;  and  Sim  to  his 
daily  duty  in  the  workshop,  to  which  re- 
treat he  carried  the  big  look,  although  the 
loaf  remained  behind. 

Indeed  the  big  look  increased  immense- 
ly, and  when  he  had  tied  his  apron  on  quite 
gigantic.  It  was  not  until  he  had  several 
times  walked  up  and  down  with  folded 


BARNABY    RUDGE 


arms,  and  the  longest  strides  he  could  take, 
and  had  kicked  a  great  many  small  articles 
out  of  his  way,  that  his  lip  began  to  curl. 
At  length  a  gloomy  derision  came  upon  his 
features,  and  he  smiled;  uttering  mean- 
while with  supreme  contempt  the  mono- 
syllable "Joe!" 

"  I  eyed  her  over  while  he  talked  about 
the  fellow,"  he  said,  "and  that  was  of 
course  the  reason  of  her  being  confused. 
.  oe  I"  ^ 

He  walked  up  and  down  again  much 
quicker  than  before,  and  if  possible  with 
longer  strides  ;  sometimes  stopping  to  take 
a  glance  at  his  legs,  and  sometimes  to  jerk 
out  as  it  were,  and  cast  from  him,  another 
"  Joe  !"    In  the  course  of  quarter  an  hour 


or  so  he  again  assumed  the  paper  cap  and 
tried  to  work.     No.    It  could  not  be  done. 

"  I'll  do  nothing  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit,  dashing  it  down  again,  "  but  grind. 
j  I'll  grind  up  all  the  tools.  Grinding  will 
suit  my  present  humour  well.  Joe  !" 
I  Whirr-r-r-r.  The  grindstone  was  soon 
in  motion ;  the  sparks  were  flying  oif  in 
1  showers.  This  was  the  occupation  for  his 
heated  spirit. 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r. 

"Something  will  come  of  this!"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  pausing  as  if  in  tniimph, 
and  wiping  his  heated  face  upon  his  sleeve. 
"vSomething  will  come  of  this.  I  hope  it 
mayn't  be  human  gore." 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTH. 


As  soon  as  the  business  of  the  day  was 
over,  the  locksmith  sallied  forth  alone  to 
visit  the  wounded  gentleman  and  ascertain 
the  progress  of  his  recovery.  The  house 
where  he  had  left  him  was  in  a  by-street 
.r  Soutbwark,not  far  from  London  Bridge; 
and  thither  he  hied  with  all  speed,  bent 
upon  returninor  with  as  little  delay  as  might 
bo,  and  getting  to  bed  betimes. 

'I'he  evening  was  boisterous  —  scarcely 
Jetter  than  the  previous  night  had  been. 


It  was  not  easy  for  a  stout  man  like  Ga- 
briel to  keep  his  legs  at  the  street  corners, 
or  to  make  head  against  the  high  wind; 
which  often  fairly  got  the  better  of  him, 
and  drove  him  back  some  paces,  or,  in  de- 
fiance of  all  his  energy,  forced  him  to  take 
shelter  in  an  arch  or  doorway  until  the 
fury  of  the  gust  was  spent.  Occasionally 
a  hat  or  wig,  or  both,  came  spinning  and 
trundling  past  him,  like  a  mad  thing; 
while  the  more  serious  spectacle  of  falling 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


31 


tiles  and  slates,  or  of  masses  of  brick  and 
mortar  or  frairments  of  stono-co])in!)rattlin(r 
ufon  the  pavement  near  at  hand,  and  split- 
ting into  fragments,  did  not  increase  the 
pleasure  of  the  journey,  or  make  the  way 
less  dreary. 

"A  trying  night  for  a  man  like  me  to 
walk  in!"  said  the  locksmith, as  he  knock- 
ed softly  at  the  widow's  door.  "I'd  rather 
be  in  old  John's  chimney-corner,  faith  !" 

"Who's  there]"  demanded  a  woman's 
voice  from  within.  Being  answered,  it  ad- 
ded a  hasty  word  of  welcome,  and  the  door 
was  quickly  opened. 

She  was  about  forty  —  perhaps  two  or 
three  years  older — with  a  cheerful  aspect, 
and  a  face  that  had  once  been  pretty.  It 
bore  traces  of  affliction  and  care,  but  they 
were  of  an  old  date,  and  Time  had  smooth- 
ed them.  Any  one  w^ho  had  bestowed  but 
a  casual  glance  on  Barnaby  might  have 
known  that  this  was  his  mother,  from  the 
strong  resemblance  between  them ;  but 
where  in  his  face  there  was  wildness  and 
vacancy,  in  hers  there  was  the  patient 
composure  of  long  effort  and  quiet  resigna- 
tion. 

One  thing  about  this  face  was  very 
strange  and  startling.  You  could  not  look 
apon  it  in  its  most  cheerful  mood  without 
feeling  that  it  had  some  extraordinary  ca- 
pacity of  expressing  terror.  It  was  not  on 
the  surface.  It  was  in  no  one  feature  that 
it  lingered.  You  could  not  take  the  eyes, 
or  mouth,  or  lines  upon  the  cheek,  and 
say,  if  this  or  that  were  otherwise,  it  would 
not  be  so.  Yet  there  it  always  lurked — 
something  for  ever  dimly  seen,  but  ever 
there,  and  never  absent  for  a  moment.  It 
was  the  faintest,  palest  shadow  of  some 
look,  to  which  an  instant  of  intense  and 
most  unutterable  horror  only  could  have 
givBn  birth  ;  but  indistinct  and  feeble  as  it 
was,  it  did  suggest  what  that  look  must 
have  been,  and  fixed  it  in  the  mind  as  if  it 
had  had  existence  in  a  dream. 

More  faintly  imaged,  and  wanting  force 
and  purpose,  as  it  were,  because  of  his 
darkened  intellect,  there  was  this  same 
stamp  upon  the  son.  Seen  in  a  picture,  it 
must  have  had  some  legend  with  it,  and 
would  have  haunted  those  who  looked 
.i|»on  the  canvas.  They  who  knew  the 
Maypole  story,  and  could  remember  what 
the  widow  was,  before  her  husband's  and 
his  master's  murder,  understood  it  well. 
They  recollected  how  the  change  had  come, 
and  could  call  to  mind  that  when  her  son 
was  born,  upon  the  very  day  the  deed  was 
Known,  he  bore  upon  his  wrist  what  seem- 
ed a  smear  of  blood  but  half  washed  out. 

"  God  save  you,  neighbour,"  said  tlie 
*ocksmith,  as  he  followed  her  with  the  air 


of  an  old  friend  into  a  little  parlour  where 
a  cheerful  fire  was  biirning. 

"  And  you,"  siie  answered,  smiling. 
"Your  kind  heart  has  brought  you  here 
again.  Nothing  will  keep  you  at  home,  I 
know  of  old,  if  there  are  friends  to  serve  or 
comfort,  out  of  doors." 

"Tut,  tut,"  returned  the  locksmith,  rub- 
bing his  hands  and  warming  them.  "  \o\x 
women  are  such  talkers.  What  of  the  pa- 
tient, neighbour'?" 

"  He  is  sleeping  now.  He  was  very 
restless  towards  daylight,  and  for  some 
hours  tossed  and  tumbled  sadly.  But  the 
fever  has  left  him,  and  the  doctor  says  he 
will  soon  mend.  He  must  not  be  removed, 
until  to-morrow." 

"  He  has  had  visiters  to-day — ^liumph?" 
said  Gabriel,  slyly. 

"  Yes.  Old  Mr.  Chester  has  been  here 
ever  since  we  sent  for  him,  and  had  not 
been  gone  many  minutes  when  you  knock- 
ed." 

"  No  ladies  V  said  Gabriel,  elevating 
his  eyebrows  and  looking  disappointed. 

"  A  letter,"  replied  the  widow. 

"  Come.  That 's  better  than  nothing !" 
cried  the  locksmith.  "  Who  was  the 
bearer?" 

"  Barnaby,  of  course." 

"  Barnaby 's  a  jewel!"  said  Varden; 
"  and  comes  and  goes  with  ease  where  we 
who  think  ourselves  much  wiser  would 
make  but  a  poor  hand  of  it.  He  is  not 
out  wandering,  again,  I  hope]" 

"Thank  Heaven  he  is  in  his  bed  ;  hav- 
ing been  up  all  night,  as  you  know,  and 
on  his  feet  all  day.  He  was  quite  tired 
out.  Ah,  neighbour,  if  I  could  but  see 
him  oftener  so — if  I  could  but  tame  down 
that  terrible  restlessness — " 

"In  good  time,"  said  the  locksmith, 
kindly,  "in  good  time  —  don't  be  down- 
hearted. To  my  mind  he  grows  wiser 
every  day." 

The  widow  shook  her  head.  And  yet, 
though  she  knew  the  locksmith  sought  to 
cheer  her,  and  spoke  from  no  conviction 
of  his  own,  she  was  glad  to  hear  even  this 
praise  of  her  poor  benighted  son. 

"  He  will  be  a  'cute  man  yet,"  resumed 
the  locksmith.  "  Take  care,  when  we  are 
growing  old  and  foolish,  Barnaby  doesn't 
put  us  1o  the  blush,  that's  all.  But  our 
other  friend,"  he  added,  looking  under  the 
table  and  ab-^ut  the  floor — "  sharpest  and 
cunningest  of  all  the  sharp  and  cunning 
ones — where 's  he]" 

"In  Barnaby's  room,"  rqoined  the 
widow,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Ah  !  He 's  a  knowing  blade  !"  said 
Varden,  shaking  his  head.  "I  should  be 
sorrv  to  talk  secrets  before  him.  Oh !    He  'a 


32 


BARNVBY    RUDGE 


a  deep  customer.  1  've  no  doubt  he  can 
read  and  write  and  cast  accounts  if  lie 
chouses.  What  was  that — him  tapping  at 
the  door]" 

"  No,"  returned  the  widow.  "  It  was 
in  the  street,  I  think.  Hark!  Yes. 
There  aoain !  'Tis  some  one  knocking 
eofily  at  tlie  shutter.     Who  can  it  be!" 

'J'hey  liad  been  speaking  in  a  low  tone, 
for  the  invalid  lay  overhead,  and  the  walls 
and  ceilings  being  thin  and  poorly  built, 
the  sound  of  their  voices  might  otherwise 
have  disturbed  his  slumber.  The  party 
without,  whoever  it  was,  could  have  stood 
close  to  the  shutter  without  hearing  any 
thing  spoken;  and,  seeing  the  light  through 
the  cliinks  and  finding  all  so  quiet,  might 
have  been  persuaded  that  only  one  person 
W'as  there. 

"  Some  thief  or  ruffian,  maybe,"  said 
the  locksmith.     Give  me  the  lioht." 

"  No,  no,"  she  returned,  hastily.  "  Such 
visiters  have  never  come  to  this  poor  dwell- 
ing. Do  you  stay  here.  You  're  within 
call,  at  the  worst.  1  would  rather  go  my- 
self— alone." 

"Why]"  said  the  locksmith,  unwill- 
ingly relinquishing  the  candle  he  had 
caught  up  from  the  table. 

"  Because — I  don't  know  why — because 
the  wish  is  strong  upon  me,"  she  rejoined. 
"  There  again — do  not  detain  me,  1  beg  of 
you !" 

Gabri"!  looked  at  her,  in  great  surprise 
to  see  one  who  was  usually  so  mild  and 
quiet  thus  agitated,  and  with  so  little 
cause.  She  left  the  room  and  closed  the 
door  behind  her.  She  stood  for  a  moment, 
as  if  hesitating,  with  her  hand  upon  the 
lock.  In  this  short  interval  the  knocking 
came  again,  and  a  voice  close  to  the  win- 
dow— a  voice  the  locksmith  seemed  to  re- 
collect, and  to  have  some  disagreeable  as- 
sociation with — whispered  "  Make  haste." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  that  low  and 
distinct  voice  which  finds  its  way  so  rea- 
dily to  sleepers'  ears,  and  wakes  them  in  a 
fright.  For  a  moment,  it  startled  even  the 
locksmith  ;  who  involuntarily  drew  back 
from  the  window,  and  listened. 

The  wind  rumbling  in  the  chimney  made 
it  difficult  to  hear  what  passed,  but  he 
could  tell  that  the  door  was  opened,  that 
there  was   the  tread  of  a  man  upon  the 


creaking  boards,  and  then  a  moment's  si 
lence — broken  by  a  suppressed  something 
which  was  not  a  shriek,  or  groan,  or  cry 
for  help,  and  yet  might  have  been  either  or 
all  three;  and  the  words  "  My  God  !"  ut- 
tered in  a  voice  it  chilled  him  to  hear. 

He  rushed  out  upon  the  instant.  'J'here, 
at  last,  was  that  dreadful  look — the  very 
one  he  seemed  to  know  so  well  and  yet 
had  never  seen  before  —  upon  her  face. 
There  she  stood,  frozen  to  the  ground, 
gazing  with  starting  eyes,  and  livid  cheeks, 
and  every  feature  fixed  and  ghastly,  upon 
the  man  he  had  encountered  in  the  dark 
last  night.  His  eyes  met  those  of  the 
locksmith.  It  was  but  a  flash,  an  instant, 
a  breath  spon  a  polished  glass,  and  he  was 
gone. 

The  locksmith  was  upon  him — had  the 
skirts  of  his  streaming  garment  almost  in 
his  grasp  —  when  his  arms  were  tightly 
clutched,  and  the  widow  flung  herself  »jpoD 
the  ground  before  him. 

"  The  other  way — the  other  way,"  she 
cried.  "  He  went  the  other  way.  Turn 
— turn." 

"  The  other  way  !  I  see  him  now,"  re- 
joined the  locksmith,  pointing — "  yonder 
— there — there  is  his  shadow  passing  by 
that  light.  What — who  is  thisi  Let  me 
go." 

"  Come  back,  come  back !"  exclaimed 
the  woman,  wrestling  with  and  clasping 
him  ;  "  Do  not  touch  him  on  your  life.  1 
charge  you  come  back.  He  carries  other 
lives  besides  his  own.     Come  back  !" 

"What  does  this  mean?"  cried  the 
locksmith. 

"  No  matter  what  it  means,  don't  ask, 
don't  speak,  don't  think  about  it.  He  is 
not  to  be  followed,  checked,  or  stopped. 
Come  back  !" 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  in  wonder, 
as  she  writhed  and  clung  about  him  ;  and, 
borne  down  by  her  passion,  suflVred  her 
to  drag  him  into  the  house.  It  was  not 
until  she  had  chained  and  double-locked 
the  door,  fastened  every  bolt  and  bar  with 
the  heat  and  fury  of  a  maniac,  and  drawn 
him  back  into  the  room,  that  she  turned 
upon  him  once  again  that  stony  look  of 
horror,  and,  sinking  down  into  a  chair, 
covered  her  C;\ce,  and  shuddered,  as  though 
I  the  hand  of  death  were  on  her. 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTH. 


Beyond  all  measure  astonished  by  the  i 
strange  occurrences  which  had  passed  with 
80  much  violence  and  rapidity,  the  lock- 
smith gazed  upon  the  shnddering  figure  in 
the  chair  like  one  half-stupified,  and  would  , 
have  gazed  much  longer,  had  not  his  tongue 
been  loosened  by  compassion  and  hu- 
manity, j 

"  You  are  ill,"  said  Gabriel.  "  Let  me 
call  some  neighbour  in." 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  rejoined,  mo- 
tioning to  him  with  her  trembling  hand, 
and  still  holding  her  face  averted.  "It  is 
enough  that  you  have  been  by,  to  see  this." 

"  Nay,  more  than  enough — or  less,"  said 
Gabriel. 

"Be  it  so,"  she  returned.  "As  you 
like.    Ask  me  no  questions,  I  entreat  you." 

"Neighbour,"  said  the  locksmith,  after 
a  pause, — "  is  this  f.iir,  or  reasonable,  or 
just  to  yourself]  Is  it  like  you,  who  have 
known  me  so  long  and  sought  my  advice 
in  all  matters — like  you.  who  from  a  girl 
have  had  a  strong  mind  and  a  staunch 
heart  1" 

"I  have  had  need  of  them,"  she  replied. 
"1  am  growing  old,  both  in  years  and  care. 
Perhaps  th;it,  and  too  much  trial,  have 
made  them  weaker  than  they  used  to  be. 
Do  not  speak  to  me." 


"  How  can  I  see  what  I  have  seew,  «nd 
hold  my  peace !"  returned  the  lock^nnth. 
"  Who  was  that  man,  and  why  has  his 
coming  made  this  change  in  you]" 
,  She  was  silent,  but  clung  to  the  chair 
as  though  to  save  herself  from  falling  on 
the  ground. 

j      "  1  take  the  license  of  an  old  acquaint- 
ance,  Mary,"  said   the  locksmith,  "  who 
j  has  ever  had  a  warm  regard  for  you,  and 
maybe  has  tried  to  prove  it  when  he  could. 
'  Who  is  this  ill-favoured  man,  and  what 
j  has   he   to   do   with   you]    Who   is   this 
!  ghost,  that  is  only  seen  in  the  black  nights 
and  bad  weather]   How  does  he  know  and 
why  does  he  haunt  this  house,  whisperinjj 
through  chinks  and  crevices,  as  if  there  was 
between  him  and  you,  that  which   neither 
durst  so  much  as  speak  aloud  of]     Who 
is  he]" 

"  You  do  well  to  say  he  haunts  this 
house,"  returned  the  widow,  faintly.  "  His 
shadow  has  been  upon  it  and  me,  in  light 
and  darkness,  at  noonday  and  midnight. 
And  now,  at  last,  he  has  come  in  the 
body  !" 

"  But  he  wouldn't  have  gone  in  the  bo 
dy,"  returned  the  locksmith  with  some 
irritation,  "  if  you  had  left  my  arms  and 
legs  at  liberty.     What  riddle  is  this  '" 


34 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


"I ;  is  one,"  she  answered,  rising  as  she  , 
spoke.  "  th;it  must  remain  forever  as  it  is. 
1  dare  nut  say  more  than  that." 

"  Dare  not !"  repeated  the  wondering 
locksmith. 

"Do  not  press  me,"  she  replied.  "I 
am  sick  and  faint,  and  every  faculty  of  life 
Beems  dead  within  me.  —  No!  —  Do  not 
touch  me,  either  " 

Gahriel,  who  had  stepped  forward  to 
render  her  assistance,  fell  back  as  she 
made  this  hasty  exclamation,  and  regarded 
her  ill  silent  wonder. 

"  Let  me  go  my  way  alone,"  she  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  and  let  the  hands  of  no 
honest  man  touch  mine  to-night."  When 
she  had  tottered  to  the  door,  she  turned, 
and  added  with  a  stronger  effort, — "  This 
is  a  secret,  which,  of  necessity,  I  trust  to 
you.  You  are  a  true  man.  As  you  have 
ever  been  good  and  kind  to  me, — keep  it. 
If  any  noise  was  heard  above,  make  some 
excuse — say  anything  but. what  you  really 
saw,  and  never  let  a  word  or  look  between 
us,  recal  this  circumstance.  I  trust  to  you. 
Mind,  I  trust  to  you.  How  much  I  trust, 
you  never  can  conceive." 

Fixing  her  eyes  upon  him  for  an  instant, 
she  withdrew,  and  left  him  there  alone. 

Gabriel,  not  knowing  what  to  think, 
stood  staring  at  the  door  with  a  counte- 
nance full  of  surprise  and  dismay.  The 
more  he  pondered  on  what  had  passed,  the 
less  able  he  was  to  give  it  any  favourable 
interpretation.  To  find  this  widow  woman, 
whose  lite  for  so  many  years  had  been  sup- 
posed to  be  one  of  solitude  and  retirement, 
and  who,  in  her  quiet  suffering  character, 
had  gained  the  good  opinion  and  respect 
of  all  who  knew  her — to  find  her  linked 
mysteriously  with  an  ill-omened  man, 
alarmed  at  his  appearance,  and  yet  favour- 
ing his  escape,  was  a  discovery  that  pain- 
ed as  much  as  it  startled  him.  Her  reli- 
ance on  his  secresy,  and  his  tacit  acquies- 
cence, increased  his  distress  of  mind.  If 
he  had  spoken  boldly,  persisted  in  ques- 
tioning her,  detained  her  when  she  rose  to 
leave  the  room,  made  any  kind  of  protest, 
instead  of  silently  compromising  himself, 
as  he  felt  he  had  done,  he  would  have  been 
more  at  ease. 

"  Why  did  I  let  her  say  it  was  a  secret, 
and  she  trusted  it  to  me !"  said  Gabriel, 

Eutting  his  wig  on  one  side  to  scratch  his 
eac"  with  greater  ease,  and  looking  rue- 
fully at  the  lire.  "  I  have  no  more  readi- 
ness than  old  John  himself.  Why  didn't 
I  say  firmly,  '  You  have  no  right  to  such 
secrets,  and  I  demand  of  you  to  tell  me 
what  this  means,'  instead  of  standing  gap- 
ng  at  her,  like  an  old  mooncalf  as  I  am  ! 
But  tiiere  's  my  weakness.     I  can  be  ob- 


stinate enough  with  men  if  need  be,  but 
women  may  twist  me  round  their  fingers 
at  their  pleasure." 

He  took  his  wig  off  outright  as  he  made 
this  reflection,  and  warming  his  handker- 
cnief  at  the  fire  began  to  ruh  and  polish 
his  bald  head  with  it,  until  it  glistened 
again. 

"  And  yet,"  said  the  locksmith,  soften- 
ing under  this  soothing  process,  and  stop- 
ping to  smile,  '■'■{iriiny  be  nothing.  Any 
drunken  brawler  trying  to  make  his  way 
into  the  house,  would  have  alarmed  a  quiet 
soul  like  her.  But  then" — and  here  was 
the  vexation  —  "how  came  it  to  be  that 
man  ;  how  comes  he  to  have  this  influence 
over  her;  how  came  she  to  favour  his  get- 
ting away  from  me ;  and  more  than  all, 
how  came  she  not  to  say  it  was  a  sudden 
fright  and  nothing  morel  It's  a  sad  thing 
to  have,  in  one  minute,  reason  to  mistrust 
a  person  I  have  known  so  long,  and  an  old 
sweetheart  into  the  bargain  ;  but  what  else 
can  I  do,  with  all  this  upon  my  mind  ! — 
Is  that  Barnaby  outside  there  V 

"  Ay  !"  he  cried,  looking  in  and  nodding. 
"  Sure  enough  it's  Barnaby — how  did  you 
guess  V 

"  By  your  shadow,"  said  the  locksmith. 

"  Oho !"  cried  Barnaby,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder,  "  He's  a  merry  fellow,  that 
shadow,  and  keeps  close  to  me,  though  I 
am  silly.  We  have  such  pranks,  such 
walks,  such  runs,  such  gambols  on  the 
grass.  Sometimes  he'll  be  half  as  tall  as 
a  church  steeple,  and  sometimes  no  biggef 
than  a  dwarf.  Now  he  goes  on  before, 
and  now  behind,  and  anon  he  '11  be  stealing 
slyly  on,  on  this  side,  or  on  that,  stopping 
whenever  I  stop,  and  thinking  1  can't  see 
him,  though  I  have  my  eye  on  him  sharp 
enough.  Oh  !  he  's  a  merry  fellow.  Tell 
me — is  he  silly  too  ?     I  think  he  is." 

"  Why  ]"  asked  Gabriel. 

"  Because  he  never  tires  of  mocking  me, 
but  does  it  all  day  long. — Why  don't  you 
come  ■?" 

"  Where  ?" 

"  Up  stairs.  He  wants  you.  Stay  - 
where 's  his  shadow  ■?  Come.  You 're  a 
wise  man  ;  tell  me  that." 

"Beside  him,  Barnaby;  beside  him,  I 
.  suppose,"  returned  the  locksmith. 

"  No1"  he  replied,  shaking  his  head. 
"  Guess  again." 

"  Gone  out  a  walking,  maybe?" 

"  He  has  changed  shadows  with  a  wo- 
man," the  idiot  whispered  in  his  ear,  and 
then  fell  back  with  a  look  of  triumph. 
"  Her  shadow's  always  with  him,  and  his 
with  her.     That 's  sport  I  think,  eh  !" 

"  Barnaby,"  said  the  locksmith,  with  » 
grave  look  ;  "  come  hither,  lad." 


BARNAB\     RUDGE. 


35 


••T  know  what  you  want  to  say.  I 
irnow  '."  he  replied,  keeping  away  from 
him.  "  But  I  'm  cunning,  1  'm  silent.  I 
only  say  so  much  to  you — are  you  ready  V 
As  he  spoke,  he  caught  up  the  light,  and 
waved  it  with  a  wild  laugh  above  his 
head. 

"  Softly  —  gently,"  said  the  locksmith, 
exerting  all  his  intiuence  to  keep  him  calm 
and  quiet.  "  I  thought  you  had  been 
asleep." 

"  So  I  have  been  asleep,"  he  rejoined, 
with  widely-opened  eyes.  "There  have 
been  great  faces  coming  and  going — close 
to  my  face,  and  then  a  mile  away  —  low 
places  to  creep  through,  whether  I  would 
or  no — high  churches  to  fall  down  from — 
strange  creatures  crowded  up  together  neck 
and  heels,  to  sit  upon  the  bed  —  that 's 
sleep,  eh  ]" 

"  Dreams,  Bamaby,  dreams,"  said  the 
locksmith. 

"  Dreams  !"  he  echoed  softly,  drawing 
closer  to  him.     "Those  are  not  dreams." 

"  What  are,"  replied  the  locksmith,  "  if 
they  are  not  ]" 

"  I  dreamed,"  said  Bamaby,  passing 
his  arm  through  Varden's,  and  peering 
close  into  his  face  as  he  answered  in  a 
whisper,  "  I  dreamed  just  now  that  some- 
thing— it  was  in  the  shape  of  a  man — fol- 
lowed me^-came  softly  after  me — wouldn't 
let  me  be  —  but  was  always  hiding  and 
crouching,  like  a  cat  in  dark  corners,  wait- 
ing till  I  should  pass  ;  when  it  crept  out 
and  came  softly  after  me.  —  Did  you  ever 
see  me  run  ]" 

"  Many  a  time,  you  know." 

"You  never  saw  me  run  as  I  did  in  this 
dream.  Still  it  came  creeping  on  to  worry 
me.  Nearer,  nearer,  nearer  —  I  ran  faster 
—  leaped  —  sprung  out  of  bed  and  to  the 
window — and  there,  in  the  street  below — 
but  he  is  waiting  for  us.  Are  you  coming  1" 

"  What  in  the  street  below,  dear  Barna- 
by  V  said  Varden,  imagining  that  he  traced 
some  connection  between  this  vision  and 
what  had  actually  occurred. 

Barraby  looked  into  his  face,  muttered 
incoherently,  waved  the  light  above  his 
head  again,  laughed,  and  drawing  the  lock- 
smith's arm  more  tightly  through  his  own, 
led  him  up  the  stairs  in  silence. 

They  entered  a  homely  bedchamber, 
garnished  in  a  scanty  way  with  chairs 
whose  spindle-shanks  bespoke  their  ao-e, 
and  other  furniture  of  very  little  worth  ; 
but  clean  and  neatly  kept.  Reclining  in 
an  easy  chair  before  the  fire,  pale  and 
weak  from  waste  of  blood,  was  Edward 
Chester,  the  young  gentleman  that  had 
been  the  first  to  quit  the  Miiypole  on  the 
previous  night,  who,  extending  his  hand 


,  to  the  locksmith,  welcomed  him  as  his  pre- 
j  server  and  friend. 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,  say  no  more,"  said 
Gabriel.  "  I  hope  I  would  have  done  a. 
least  as  much  for  any  man  in  such  a  strait, 
and  most  of  all  for  you,  sir.  A  certain 
young  lady,"  he  added,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, "  has  done  us  many  a  kind  turn,  and 
we  naturally  feel  —  I  hope  1  give  you  no 
offence  in  s^iying  this,  sir  V 

The  young  man  smiled  and  shook  his 
head ;  at  the  same  time  moving  in  his 
chair  as  if  in  pain. 

"  It 's  no  great  matter,"  he  said,  in  an- 
swer to  the  locksmith's  sympathising  look, 
"  a  mere  uneasiness  arising  at  least  as 
much  from  being  cooped  up  here,  as  from 
the  slight  wound  I  have,  or  from  the  loss 
of  blood.     Be  seated,  Mr.  Varden." 

"  If  I  may  make  so  bold,  Mr.  Edward, 
as  to  lean  upon  your  chair,"  returned  the 
locksmith,  accommodating  his  action  to 
his  speech,  and  bending  over  him.  "1  '11 
stand  here  for  the  convenience  of  speaking 
low.  Bamaby  is  not  in  his  quietest  hu- 
m-our  to-night,  and  at  such  times  talking 
never  does  him  good." 

They  both  glanced  at  the  subject  of  this 
remark,  who  had  taken  a  seat  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fire,  and,  smiling  vacantly,  was 
making  puzzles  on  his  fingers  with  a  skein 
of  string. 

"  Pray,  tell  me,  sir,"  said  Varden,  drop- 
ping his  voice  still  lower,  "exactly  what 
happened  last  night.  I  have  my  reason 
for  intiuiring.  You  left  the  Maypole, 
alone  ■?" 

"  And  walked  homeward  alone  until  I 
had  nearly  reached  the  place  where  you 
found  me,  when  I  heard  the  gallop  of  a 
horse." 

" — Behind  you]"  said  the  locksmith. 

"  Indeed,  yes — behind  me.  It  was  a  sin- 
gle rider,  who  soon  overtook  me,  and 
checking  his  horse,  inquired  the  w..y  to 
London." 

"  You  were  on  the  alert,  sir,  knowing 
how  many  hig-hwaymen  there  are,  scour- 
ing the  roads  in  all  directions]"  said  Var- 
den. 

"I  was,  but  I  had  only  a  stick,  having 
imprudently  left  my  pistols  in  their  holster- 
case  with  "the  landlord's  son.  I  directed 
him  as  he  desired.  Before  the  words  had 
passed  my  lips,  he  rode  upon  me  furiously 
as  if  bent  on  trampling  me  down  beneath 
his  horse's  hoofs.  In  starting  aside  I  slip- 
ped and  fell.  You  found  me  with  this  stab 
and  an  ugly  bruise  or  two,  and  without  my 
purse — in  which  he  found  little  enough  for 
I  his  pains.  And  now,  Mr.  Varden,"  he  add- 
1  ed,  shaking  the  locksmith  by  the  haml. 


SB 


BAKNABY    RUDGE. 


•'  savingr  the  extent  of  my  gratitude  to  you, 
you  know  as  much  as  1." 

"  Kxcept,"  said  Gabriel,  bending  down 
yet  more,  and  looking  cautiously  towards 
their  silent  neijrbbour,  "except  in  respect 
of  the  robber  himself.  What  like  was  he, 
sir]  Speak  low,  if  you  please.  Barnaby 
means  no  harm,  but  I  have  watched  him 
oftener  than  you,  and  I  know,  little  as  you 
would  think  it,  that  he's  listening  now." 

It  required  a  strong  confidence  in  the 
locksmith's  veracity  to  lead  any  one  to  this 
belief,  for  every  sense  and  faculty  that  Bar- 
naby possessed,  seemed  to  be  fixed  upon 
his  game,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
things.  Something  in  the  young  man's 
face  expressed  this  opinion,  for  Gabriel  re- 
peated what  he  had  just  said,  more  earn- 
estly than  before,  and  with  another  glance 
towards  Barnaby,  again  asked  what  like 
the  man  was. 

"  The  night  was  so  dark,"  said  Edward, 
"  the  attack  so  sudden,  and  he  so  wrapped 
and  muffled  up,  that  I  can  hardly  say.  It 
seems  that — " 

"  Don't  mention  his  name,  sir,"  returned 
the  locks.\iith,  following  his  look  towards 
Barnaby ;  "  I  know  he  saw  him.  I  want 
lo  know  what  you  saw." 

"  All  I  remember  is,"  said  Edward, 
'•  that  as  he  checked  his  horse  his  hat  was 
lilown  off.  He  caught  it  and  replaced  it 
on  his  head,  which  I  observed  was  bound 
with  a  dark  handkerchief.  A  stranger  en- 
tered the  Maypole  while  I  was  there,  whom 
I  had  not  seen,  for  I  sat  apart  for  reasons 
of  my  own,  and  when  I  rose  to  leave  the 
room  and  glanced  round,  he  was  in  the  sha- 
dow of  the  chimney  and  hidden  from  my 
sight.  But  if  he  and  the  robber  were  two 
different  persons,  their  voices  were  strange- 
l)"-  and  most  remarkably  alike  ;  for  directly 
the  man  addressed  me  in  the  road,  I  recog- 
nised his  speech  again." 

"  It  is  as  I  feared.  The  very  man  was 
here  to-night,"  thought  the  locksmith, 
changing  colour.  "  What  dark  history  is 
this!" 

"  Halloa !"  cried  a  hoarse  voice  in  his 
ear.  "  Halloa,  halloa,  halloa  !  Bowwow 
wow.   What's  the  matter  here  ■?   Hal-loa  !" 

The  speaker — who  made  the  locksmith 
start,  as  if  lie  had  been  some  supernatural 
agent — was  a  large  raven  ;  who  had  perch- 
ed upon  die  top  of  the  easy-chair,  unseen 
by  him  and  Edward,  and  listened  with  a 
polite  attention  and  a  most  extraordinary 
appearance  of  comprehending  every  word, 
lo  all  they  had  said  up  to  this  point;  turn- 
ing bis  head  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if 
his  ofhce  were  to  judge  between  them,  and 
t  were  of  the  very  last  import ince  that  he 
should  not  lose  a  word. 


"  Look  at  him  !"  said  Varden,  divided 
between  admiration  of  the  bird  and  a  kind 
of  fear  of  him.  "  Was  there  ever  such  a 
knowing  imp  as  that!  Oh  he's  a  dreadful 
fellow  !" 

The  raven,  with  his  head  very  much  on 
one  side,  and  his  bright  eye  shining  like  a 
diamond,  preserved  a  thoughtful  silence  for 
a  few  seconds,  and  then  replied  in  a  voice 
so  hoarse  and  distant,  that  it  seemed  to 
come  through  his  thick  feathers  rather  than 
out  of  bis  mouth. 

"Halloa,  halloa,  halloa!  What's  the 
matter  here!  Keep  up  your  spirits.  Nt^vei 
say  die.  Bow  wow  wow.  I  'm  a  devil, 
I  'm  a  devil,  I  'm  a  devil.  Hurrah  !" — And 
then,  as  if  exulting  in  his  infernal  charac- 
ter, he  began  to  whistle. 

"  I  more  than  half  believe  he  speaks  the 
truth.  Upon  my  word  I  do,"  said  Varden. 
"  Do  you  see  how  he  looks  at  me,  as  if  he 
knew  what  I  was  saying  ]" 

To  which  the  bird,  balancing  himself  on 
tiptoe,  as  it  were,  and  moving  his  body  up 
and  down  in  a  sort  of  grave  dance,  rejoined, 
"I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil," 
and  flapped  his  wings  against  his  sides  a3 
if  he  were  bursting  with  laughter.  Bar- 
naby clapped  his  hands,  and  fairly  rolled 
upon  the  ground  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

"  Strange  companions,  sir,"  said  the 
locksmith,  shaking  his  head  and  looking 
from  one  to  the  other.  "  The  bird  has  all 
the  wit." 

"  Strange  indeed  !"  said  Edward,  hold- 
ing out  his  forefinger  to  the  raven,  who,  in 
acknowledgm.mt  of  the  attention,  made  a 
dive  at  it  immediately  with  his  iron  bill. 
"Is  he  old?" 

"  A  mere  boy,  sir,"  replied  the  lock- 
smith. "  A  hundred  and  twenty,  or  there- 
abouts. Call  him  down,  Barnaby  my 
man." 

"  Call  him !"  echoed  Barnaby,  sitting 
upright  upon  the  floor,  and  starinw-  vacantly 
at  Gabriel,  as  be  thrust  his  hair  back  from 
his  face.  "  But  who  can  make  hiin  come  ! 
He  calls  me,  and  makes  me  go  where  he 
will.  He  goes  on  before,  and  I  fdlnw. 
He 's  the  master,  and  I  'm  the  man.  Is  tha* 
the  truth.  Grip]" 

The  raven  gave  a  short,  comfortable, 
confidential  kind  of  croak;  —  a  most  ex- 
pressive  croak,  which  seemed  to  say  "  You 
needn't  let  *',  -.-s.e,  fellows  into  our  secrets. 
We  understand  each  other.    It's  all  right.'' 

"  I  make  him  come  !"  cried  Barnaby, 
pointing  to  the  bird.  "  Him,  who  never 
goes  to  sleep,  or  so  much  as  winks! — • 
Why,  any  time  of  nijht,  you  may  see  hia 
eyes  in  my  dark  room,  shining  like  two 
sparks.  And  every  night,  and  all  night 
too,  he 's  broad  awake,  talking  to  himself. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


37 


thinking  what  he  shall  do  to-morrow, 
where  we  shall  fro,  and  what  he  shall  steal, 
ana  hide,  and  bury.  I  make  him  come  ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

On  second  thoughts,  the  bird  appeared 
disposed  to  come  of  himself.  Alter  a  short 
survey  of  the  ground,  and  a  few  sidelong 
looks  at  the  ceiling  and  at  every  body  pre- 
sent in  turn,  he  fluttered  to  the  floor,  and 
went  to  B.iriiahy — not  in  a  hop,  or  walk, 
or  run,  but  in  a  pace  like  that  of  a  very 
particular  gentleman  with  exceedingly 
tight  boots  on,  trying  to  walk  fast  over 
loose  pebbles.  Then,  stepping  into  his 
extended  hand,  and  condescending  to  be 
held  out  at  arm's  length,  he  gave  vent  to 
a  succession  of  sounds,  not  unlike  the 
drawing  of  some  eight  or  ten  dozen  of 
long  corks,  and  again  asserted  his  brim- 
stone birth  and  parentage  with  great  dis- 
tinctness. 

The  locksmith  shook  his  head — perhaps 
in  some  doubt  of  the  creature's  being 
really  nothing  but  a  bird — perhaps  in  pity 
for  Barnaby,  who  by  this  time  had  him  in 
his  arms,  and  was  rolling  about  with  him 
on  the  ground.  As  he  raised  his  eyes 
from  the  poor  fellow,  he  encountered  those 
of  his  mother,  who  had  entered  the  room, 
and  was  looking  on  in  silence. 

She  was  quite  white  in  the  face,  even  to 
her  lips,  but  had  wholly  subdued  her  emo- 
tion, and  wore  her  usual  quiet  look.  Var- 
den  fancied  as  he  glanced  at  her  that  slie 
shrunk  from  his  eye  ;  and  that  she  busied 
herself  about  the  wounded  gentleman  to 
avoid  him  the  better. 

It  was  time  he  went  to  bed,  she  said. 
He  was  to  be  removed  to  his  own  home  on 
the  morrow,  and  he  had  already  exceeded 
his  time  for  sitting  up,  by  a  full  hour.  Act- 
ing on  this  hint,  the  locksmith  prepared  to 
take  his  leave. 

"  By  the  bye,"  said  Edward,  as  he  shook 
him  by  the  hand,  and  looked  from  him  to 
^Irs.  kudge  and  back  again,  "  what  noise 
was  that  below  ?  I  heard  your  voice  in 
the  midst  of  it,  and  should  have  inquired 
before,  but  our  other  conversation  drove  it 
from  my  memor}'.     What  was  itV 

The  locksmith  looked  towards  her,  and 
bit  his  lip.  She  leant  against  the  chair, 
and  bent  her  eyes  upon  the  ground.  Bar- 
naby too — he  was  listening. 


— "Some  mad  or  drunken  fellow,  sir," 
Varden  at  length  made  answer,  looking 
steadily  at  the  widow  as  he  spoke.  "  He 
mistook  the  house,  and  tried  to  force  an 
entrance." 

She  breathed  more  freely,  but  siood 
quite  motionless.  As  the  locksmith  said 
"Good  night."  and  Barnaby  caught  up  the 
candle  to  light  him  down  the  stairs,  she 
took  it  from  him,  and  charged  him — with 
more  haste  and  earnestness  than  so  slight  an 
occasion  appeared  to  warrant — not  to  stir. 
The  raven  followed  them  to  satisfy  him- 
self that  all  was  right  below,  and  when 
they  reached  the  street-door,  stood  on  the 
bottom  stair,  drawing  corks  out  of  number. 
With  a  trembling  hand  she  unfastened 
the  chain  and  bolts,  and  turned  the  key. 
As  she  had  her  hand  upon  the  latch,  the 
locksmith  said  in  a  low  voice, 

"  I  have  told  a  lie  to-night,  for  your 
sake,  Mary,  and  for  the  sake  of  bygone 
times  and  old  acquaintances,  when  I  would 
scorn  to  do  so  for  my  own.  I  hope  I  may 
have  done  no  harm,  or  led  to  none.  I 
can't  help  the  suspicions  you  have  forced 
upon  me,  and  I  am  loath,  1  tell  you  plain- 
ly, to  leave  Mr.  Edward  here.  Take  care 
he  comes  to  no  hurt.  T  doubt  the  safety 
of  this  roof,  and  am  glad  he  leaves  it  so 
soon.     Now,  let  me  go." 

For  a  moment  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  wept;  but  resisting  the  strong 
j  impulse  which  evidently  moved  her  to  re- 
ply, opened  the  door — no  wider  than  was 
I  sufficient  for  the  passage  of  his  body — and 
I  motioned   him    away.     As   the   locksmith 
stood  upon  the  step,  if  was  chained  and 
!  locked  behind  him,  and  the  raven,  in  fur- 
therance of  these  precautions,  barked  like 
a  lusty  housedog. 

"  In  league  with  that  ill-looking  figure 
that  might  have  fallen  from  a  gibl)et — he 
listening  and  hiding  there — Barnaby  first 
upon  the  spot  last  nights — can  she  who  has 
always  borne  so  fair  a  name  be  guilty  of 
such   crimes   in   secret!"   said    the    lock- 
smith, musing.     "  Heaven  forgive  me  if 
1  am  wrong,  and  send  me  just  thoughts; 
I  but  she  is  poor,   the   temptation   may  be 
I  great,   and   we   daily   hear   of  thin<is   aS 
[  strange. — Ay,  bark  away,  my  friend.     If 
I  there's  any  wickedness  going  on,  that  ra- 
1  ven  's  in  it,  1  '11  be  svv  orn." 


38 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTH. 


Mrs.  Varden  was  a  lady  of  what  is 
commonly  called  an  uncertain  temper — a 
phrase  which  being  interpreted  signifies  a 
temper  tolerably  certain  to  make  every 
body  more  or  less  uncomfortable.  Thus  it 
generally  happened,  that  when  other  peo- 
ple were  merry,  Mrs.  Varden  was  dull; 
and  that  wlien  other  people  were  dull, 
Mrs.  Vardon  was  disposed  to  be  amazing- 
ly cheerful.  Indeed  the  worthy  housewife 
was  of  such  a  capricious  nature,  that  she 
not  only  attained  a  higher  pitch  of  genius 
than  Macbeth,  in  respect  of  her  ability  to 
be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious, 
loyal  and  neutral  in  an  instant,  but  would 
sometimes  ring  the  changes  backwards  and 
forwards  on  all  possible  moods  and  flights 
in  one  short  quarter  of  an  hour;  perform- 
ing, as  it  were,  a  kind  of  triple  bob  major 
on  the  peal  of  instruments  in  the  female 
belfry,  with  a  skilfulness  and  rapidity  of 
execution  that  astonished  all  who  heard 
her. 

It  had  been  observed  in  this  good  lady, 
(who  did  not  want  for  personal  attractions, 
being  plump  and  buxom  to  look  at,  though 
like  her  fair  daughter,  somewhat  short  in 
stature,)  that  this  uncertainty  of  disposition 
strengthened  and  incieased  with  her  tem- 
poral prosperity  ;  and  divers  wise  men  and 
matrons,  on  friendly  terms  with  the  lock- 
smith and  his  family,  even  went  so  far  as 
to  assert,  that  a  tumble  down  some  half 
dozen  rounds  in  the  world's  ladder — such 
as  the  breiking  of  the  bank  in  which  her 
husband  kept  his  money,  or  some  little  fall 
of  tliat  kind — would  be  the  making  of  her, 
and  could  hardly  fail  to  render  her  one  of 
the  most  agreeable  companions  in  exist- 
ence. Whether  they  were  right  or  wrong 
in  this  conjecture,  certain  it  is  that  minds, 
like  bodies,  will  often  fall  into  a  pimpled 
ill-conditioned  state  from  mere  excess  of 
comfort,  and  like  them,  are  often  success- 
fully cured  by  remedies  in  themselves  very 
nauseous  and  unpalatable. 

Mrs.  Varden's  chief  aider  and  abettor, 
and  at  the  same  time  her  principal  victim 
and  object  of  wrath,  was  her  single  domes- 
tic servant,  one  Miss  Miggs;  or  as  she 
was  called,  in  conformity  with  those  pre- 
judices of  society  which  lop  and  top  from 
IKior  handmaidens  all  such  genteel  excres- 
cences—  Miggs.  This  Miggs  was  a  tall 
young  lady,  very  much  addicted  to  pattens 
in  private  life;  slender  and  shrewish,  of  a 
rather  uncomfortable  figure,  and  though  not 
absolutely  ill-looking,  of  a  sharp  and  acid 


visage.  As  a  general  principle  and  at)« 
stract  ])roposition,  Miggs  held  the  mnlt  sex 
to  be  utterly  contemptible  and  unwoithy 
of  notice;  to  be  fickle,  false,  base,  sottish, 
inclined  to  perjury,  and  wholly  undeserv- 
ing. When  particularly  exasperated  against 
them  (which,  scandal  said,  was  when  Sim 
Tappertit  slighted  her  most)  she  was  ac- 
customed to  wish  with  great  emphasis  that 
the  whole  race  of  women  could  but  die  otf, 
in  order  that  the  men  might  be  brought  to 
know  the  real  value  of  the  blessings  by 
which  they  set  so  little  store;  nay,  her 
feeling  for  her  order  ran  so  high,  that  she 
sometimes  declared,  if  she  could  only  have 
good  security  for  a  fiir,  round  number — 
say  ten  thousand — of  young  virgins  follow- 
ing her  example,  she  would,  to  spite  man- 
kind, hang,  drown,  stab,  or  poison  herself, 
with  a  joy  past  all  expression. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Miggs  that  greeted 
the  locksmith,  when  he  knocked  at  his 
own  house,  with  a  shrill  cry  of  "  Who 's 
there  ?" 

"  Me,  girl,  me,"  returned  Gabriel. 

"What,  already,  sir!"  said  Miggs, 
opening  the  door  with  a  look  of  surprise. 
"  We  was  just  getting  on  our  nightcaps  to 
sit  up,  —  me  and  mistress.  Oh,  she  has 
been  so  bad  !" 

Miggs  said  this  with  an  air  of  uncom- 
mon candour  and  concern  ;  but  the  parlour- 
door  was  standing  open,  and  as  Gabriel 
very  well  knew  for  whose  ears  it  was  de- 
signed, he  regarded  her  with  anything  but 
an  approving  look  as  he  passed  in. 

"  Master 's  come  home,  mim,"  cried 
Miggs,  running  before  him  into  the  par- 
lour. "  You  was  wrong,  mim,  and  I  was 
right.  I  thousfht  he  wouldn't  keep  us  up 
so  late,  two  nights  running,  mim.  Master's 
always  considerate  so  far.  I'm  so  glad, 
mim,  on  your  account.  I'm  a  little"  — 
here  Migirs  simpered  —  "a  little  sleepy 
myself;  I'll  own  it  now,  mim,  though  I 
said  I  wasn't  when  you  asked  me.  It  an't 
of  no  consequence,  mim,  of  course." 

"  You  had  better,"  said  the  locksmith, 
who  most  devoutly  wished  that  Barmiby's 
raven  was  at  Miggs'  ancles,  "you  had 
better  get  to  bed  at  once  then." 

"Thanking  you  kindly,  sir,"  returned 
Migcrs,  "  I  couldn't  take  my  rest  in  peace, 
nor  fix  my  thoughts  upon  my  prayers, 
otherways  than  that  I  knew  mistress  was 
comfortable  in  her  bed  this  niglit;  by 
rights  she  should  have  been  there,  hours 
ago." 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


39 


*'  You  're  talkative,  mistress,"  said  Var- 
Jer,  pulling  off  liis  great-coat,  and  looking 
at  her  askew. 

"Taking  the  hint,  sir,"  cried  Miggs, 
with  a  flushed  face,  "  and  thanking  you  for 
it  most  kindly,  I  will  make  bold  to  say, 
that  if  I  give  offence  by  having  considera- 
tion for  my  mistress,  I  do  not  ask  your 
pardon,  but  am  content  to  get  myself  into 
trouble  and  to  be  in  suffering." 

Here  Mrs.  Varden,  who,  with  her  coun- 
tenance shrouded  in  a  large  nightcap,  had 
been  all  this  time  intent  upon  the  Pro- 
testant iManual,  looked  round,  and  acknow- 
ledged Miggs'  championship  by  command- 
ing her  to  hold  her  tongue. 

Every  little  bone  in  Miggs'  throat  and 
neck  developed  itself  with  a  spiteful ness 
quite  alarming,  as  she  replied,  "  Yes, 
mim,  I  will." 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  now,  my 
dearV  said  the  locksmith,  taking  a  chair 
near  his  wife  (who  had  resumed  her  book), 
and  rubbing  his  knees  hard  as  he  made  the 
inquiry. 

"  You  're  very  anxious  to  know,  an't 
you  ■?"  returned  Mrs.  Varden,  with  her  eyes 
upon  the  print.  "You,  that  have  not  been 
near  me  all  day,  and  wouldn't  have  been 
if  I  was  dying!" 

"  My  dear  Martha — "  said  Gabriel. 

Mrs.  Varden   turned   over  to   the   next 

fiage;  then  went  back  again  to  the  bottom 
ine  over  leaf  to  be  quite  sure  of  the  last 
words ;  and  then  went  on  reading  with  an 
appearance  of  the  deepest  interest  and 
etudy. 

"  My  dear  Martha,"  said  the  locksmith, 
"how  can  you  say  such  things,  when  you 
know  you  don't  mean  them]  If  you  were 
dying !  Why,  if  there  was  anything  seri- 
ous the  matter  with  you,  Martha,  shouldn't 
I  be  in  constant  attendance  upon  you?" 

"Yes!"  cried  Mrs.  Varden,  bursting 
into  tears,  "  yes,  you  would.  I  don't  doubt 
it,  Varden.  Certainly  you  would.  That's 
as  much  as  to  tell  me  that  you  would  be 
hovering  round  me  like  a  vulture,  waiting 
till  the  breath  was  out  of  my  body,  that 
you  might  go  and  marry  somebody  else." 

Miggs  groaned  in  sympathy  —  a  little 
short  groan,  checked  in  its  birth,  and 
changed  into  a  cough.  It  seemed  to  say, 
"  I  can't  help  it.  It's  wnmg  from  me  by 
the  dreadful  brutality  of  that  monster 
master." 

"  But  you  '11  break  my  heart  one  of  these 
days,"  added  Mrs.  Varden,  with  more  re- 
signation, "  and  then  we  shall  both  be 
happy.  My  only  desire  is  to  see  Dolly 
comfortably  settled,  and  when  she  is,  you 
«iay  settle  me  as  soon  as  you  like." 


"  Ah  !"  cried  Miggs  —  and  coughed 
again. 

I'oor  Gabriel  twisted  his  wig  about  in 
silence  for  a  long  time,  and  then  said  mild- 
ly, "  Has  Dolly  gone  to  bed  1" 

"  Your  master  speaks  to  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Varden,  looking  sternly  over  her  shoulder 
at  Miss  Miggs  in  waiting. 

"  No,  my  dear,  I  spoke  to  you,"  suggest- 
ed the  locksmith. 

"Did  you  hear  me,  Miggs  1"  cried  the 
obdurate  lady,  stamping  her  foot  upon  the 
ground.  "  You  are  beginning  to  despise 
me  now,  are  you  1    But  this  is  example  !" 

At  this  cruel  rebuke,  Miggs,  whose  tears 
were  always  ready,  for  large  or  small  par- 
ties, on  the  shortest  notice  and  the  most 
unreasonable  terms,  fell  a  crying  violently  ; 
holding  both  her  hands  tight  upon  her 
heart  meanwhile,  as  if  nothing  less  would 
prevent  its  splitting  into  small  fragments. 
Mrs.  Varden,  who  likewise  possessed  that 
faculty  in  high  perfection,  Avept  too,  against 
Miggs;  and  with  such  effect  that  Miggs 
gave  in  after  a  time,  and,  except  for  an  oc- 
casional sob,  which  seemed  to  threaten 
some  remote  intention  of  breaking  out 
again,  left  her  mistress  in  possession  of 
the  field.  Her  superiority  being  thorough- 
ly asserted,  that  lady  soon  desisted  like- 
wise, and  fell  into  a  quiet  melancholy. 

The  relief  was  so  great,  and  the  fatiguing 
occurrences  of  last  night  so  completely 
overpowered  the  locksmith,  that  he  nodded 
in  his  chair,  and  would  doubtless  have  slept 
there  all  night,  but  for  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Varden,  which,  after  a  pause  of  some  five 
minutes,  awoke  him  with  a  start. 

"  If  I  am  ever,"  said  Mrs.  V. — net  scold- 
ing, but  in  a  sort  of  monotonous  remon- 
strance— "  in  spirits,  if  I  am  ever  ciieerful, 
if  I  am  ever  more  than  usually  disposed  to 
be  talkative  and  comfortable,  this  is  the 
way  I  am  treated." 

"  Such  spirits  as  you  was  in  too,  mim, 
but  half  an  hour  ago  !"  cried  Miggs.  "I 
never  see  such  company  !" 

"Because."  said  Mrs.  Varden,  "because 
I  never  interfere  or  interrupt;  because  I 
never  question  where  anybody  comes  or 
goes;  because  my  whole  mind  and  soul  is 
bent  on  saving  where  I  can  save,  and  la- 
bouring in  this  house ; — therefore,  they  try 
me  as  they  do." 

"  Martha,"  urged  the  lock-smith,  endea- 
vouring to  look  as  wakeful  as  pcssible 
"  what  is  it  you  complain  of!  I  renlly  came 
home  with  every  wish  and  desire  to  be  hap- 
py.    I  did,  indeed." 

"What  do  I  complain  of!"  retorted  his 
wife.  "  Is  it  a  chillinsf  thing  to  have  one's 
husband  sul-king  and  falling  asleep  (directly 
he  comes  home — to  have  him  freezing  ail 


40 


BARNABY   RUDGE, 


one's  warm-hpartedness,  and  tlirovvinsr  cold 
water  over  the  fireside  ]  Is  it  natural,  when 
[  know  he  went  out  upon  a  matter  in  which 
I  am  as  mucli  interesti^d  as  anybody  can 
be,  that  I  should  wish  to  know  all  that  has 
happened,  or  tliat  he  should  tell  me  with- 
out my  begging-  and  praying  him  to  do  it? 
Is  that  nature,  or  is  it  not?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Martha,"  said  the 
good-natured  locksmith.  "  I  was  really 
afraid  you  were  not  disposed  to  talk  plea- 
santly ;  I'll  tell  you  everything;  I  shall 
only  be  too  glad,  my  dear." 

"  No,  Varden,"  returned  his  wife,  rising 
with  dignity,  —  "I  dare  say  —  thank  you. 
1  'm  not  a  child  to  be  corrected  one  minute 
and  petted  the  next — I'm  a  little  too  old 
for  that,  Varden.  IVIiggs,  carry  the  light. 
You  can  be  cheerful,  Miggs,  at  least." 

Miggs,  who,  to  this  moment,  had  been 
in  the  very  depths  of  compassionate  des- 
pondency, passed  instantly  into  the  liveli- 
est state  conceivable,  and  tossing  her  head 
as  she  glanced  towards  the  locksmith,  bore 
off  her  mistress  and  the  light  together. 

"  Now,  who  would  think,"  thought  Var- 
den, shrugging  his  slioulders  and  drawing 
his  chair  near  the  fire,  "  that  that  woman 
could  ever  be  pleasant  and  agreeable  1  And 
yet  she  can  be.  Well,  well,  all  of  us  have 
our  faults.  I'll  not  be  hard  upon  hers. 
We  have  been  man  and  wife  too  long  for 
that." 

He  dozed  again — not  the  less  pleasantly, 
perhaps,  for  his  hearty  ternjier.  While  his 
pycs  were  closed,  the  door  leading  to  the 
np|)er  stairs  was  partially  opened  ;  and  a 


head  appeared,  which,  at  sight  of  him,  has 
tily  drew  back  again. 

"I  wish,"  murmured  CJabriel,  waking  aJ 
the  noise,  and  looking  round  the  room,  "  1 
wish  somebody  would  marry  Miggs.  Bui 
that's  impossible!  I  wonder  whether 
there's  any  madman  alive,  who  would  uiar- 
ry  Miggs  !" 

This  was  such  a  vast  speculation  that  he 
fell  into  a  doze  again,  and  slept  until  thu 
I  fire  was  quite  burnt  out.  At  last  he  roused 
himself;  and  having  doubled-locked  the 
street-door  according  to  custom,  and  put 
the  key  in  his  pocket,  went  oil"  to  bed. 

He  had  not  left  the  room  in  darkness 
many  minutes,  when  the  head  again  ap- 
peared, and  Sim  Tappertit  entered,  bearing 
in  his  hand  a  little  lamp. 

"  What  the  devil  business  has  he  to  stop 
up  so  late !"  muttered  Sim,  passing  into 
the  workshop,  and  setting  it  down  upon 
the  forge.  "Here's  half  the  night  gone 
already.  There  's  only  one  good  that  has 
ever  come  to  me,  out  of  this  cursed  old 
rusty  mechanical  trade,  and  that 's  this 
piece  of  ironmongery,  upon  my  soul  !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  the  right 
hand,  or  rather  right  leg  pocket  of  his 
smalls,  a  clumsy  large-sized  key,  which  he 
inserted  cautiously  in  the  lock  his  master 
had  secured,  and  softly  opened  the  door. 
That  done,  he  replaced  his  jiiece  of  secret 
workmanship  in  his  pocket;  and  leaving 
the  lamp  burning,  and  closing  the  door 
carefully  and  without  noise,  stole  out  into 
the  street — as  little  suspected  by  the  lock- 
smith in  his  sound,  deep  sleep,  as  by  Barna- 
by  himself  in  his  phantom-haunted  dreams 


aSLKte^ 


I  (4vo^A.-lSo. 


n^^Ji^'m/Ch'ij 


^¥l'^  &^'a/m&?t  fc>^^?2a  ^  m/ /?/  ^  Ai^ 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


41 


CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTH. 


Clear  of  the  locksmith's  house,  Sim 
Tiijipprtit  laid  aside  his  cautious  manner, 
and  assuming  in  its  stead  that  of  a  rutllinij, 
swagi^ering,  roving  blade,  who  would 
rather  kill  a  man  than  otherwise,  and  eat 
him  too  if  needful,  made  the  best  of  his 
way  along  the  darkened  streets. 

Half  pausing  for  an  instant  now  and 
then  to  smite  his  pocket  and  assure  him- 
self of  the  safety  of  his  master  key,  he 
hurried  on  to  Barbican,  and  turning  into 
one  of  the  narrowest  of  the  narrow  streets 
which  diverged  from  that  centre,  slackened 
his  pace  and  wiped  his  heated  brow,  as  if 
the  termination  of  his  walk  were  near  at 
hand. 

It  was  not  a  very  choice  spot  for  mid- 
night expeditions,  being  in  truth  one  of 
more  than  questionable  character,  and  of 
an  appearance  by  no  means  inviting. 
From  the  main  street  he  had  entered,  itself 
little  better  than  an  alley,  a  low-browed 
doorway  led  into  a  blind  court,  or  yard, 
profoundly  dark,  unpaved,  and  reeking 
with  stagnant  odours.  Into  this  ill-favour- 
ed pit,  the  locksmith's  vagrant  'prentice 
groped  his  way  ;  and  stopping  at  a  house 
from  w'hose  defaced  and  rotten  front  the 
rude  effigy  of  a  bottle  swung  to  and  fro 
like  some  gibbeted  malefactor,  struck 
thrice  upon  an  iron  grating  with  his  foot. 
After  listening  in  vain  for  some  response 
to  his  signal,  Mr.  Tappertit  became  impa- 
tient, and  struck  the  grating  thrice  again. 

A  further  delay  ensued,  but  it  was  not 
of  long  duration.  The  ground  seemed  to 
open  at  his  feet,  and  a  ragged  head  ap- 
peared. 

"  Is  that  the  captain  1 "  said  a  voice  as 
ragged  ai5  the  head. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily, 
descending  as  he  spoke,  "  who  should  it 
beV' 

"It 's  so  late,  we  gave  you  up,"  return- 
ed tiie  voice,  as  its  owner  stopped  to  shut 
and  fasten  the  grating.   "  You  're  late,  sir." 

"  Lead  on,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a 
gloomy  majesty,  "  and  make  remarks  when 
I  require  you.     Forward  !" 

This  latter  word  of  command  was  per- 
haps somewhat  theatrical  and  unnecessa- 
ry, inasmuch  as  the  descent  was  by  a  very 
narrow,  steep,  and  slippery  flight  of  steps, 
and  any  rashness  or  departure  from  the 
beaten  track  must  have  ended  in  a  yawn- 
ing water  butt.  But  Mr.  Tappertit  being, 
like  some  other  great  commanders,  favour- 
•ible  to  strong  effects,  and  personal  display, 


cried  "  Forward  !"  again,  in  the  hoarsest 
voice  he  could  assume  ;  and  led  the  way, 
witii  folded  arms  and  knitted  brows,  to  the 
cellar  down  below,  where  there  was  a 
small  copper  fixed  in  one  corner,  a  chair 
or  two,  a  form  and  table,  a  glimmering 
fire,  and  a  truckle  bed,  covered  with  a  rag 
ged  patchwork  rug. 

"  Welcome,  noble  captain  ! "  cried  a 
lanky  figure,  rising  as  from  a  nap. 

The  cajjtain  nodded.  Then,  throwing 
off  his  outer  coat,  he  stood  composed  in  all 
his  dignity,  and  eyed  his  follower  over. 

"  What  news  to-night  1"  he  asked,  when 
he  had  looked  into  his  very  soul. 

"  Nothing  particular,"  replied  the  other, 
stretching  liimself — and  he  was  so  long 
already  that  it  was  quite  alarming  to  see 
him  do  it — "  how  came  you  to  be  so  late  ]" 

"  No  matter,"  was  all  the  captain  deign- 
ed to  say  in  answer.  "  Is  the  room  pre- 
pared V 

"  It  is,"  replied  his  follower. 

"  The  comrade — is  he  here  V 

"Yes.  And  a  sprinkling  of  the  others 
— you  hear  'em  T' 

"  Playing  skittles !"  said  the  captain 
moodily.     "Light-hearted  revellers!" 

There  was  no  doubt  respecting  the  par- 
ticular amusements  in  which  these  heedless 
spirits  were  indulging,  for  even  in  the  close 
and  stifling  atmosphere  of  the  vault,  the 
noise  sounded  like  distant  thunder.  It 
certainly  appeared,  at  first  sight,  a  singular 
spot  to  choose,  for  that  or  any  other  pur- 
pose of  relaxation,  if  the  other  cellars 
answered  to  the  one  in  which  this  brief 
colloquy  took  place ;  for  the  floors  were  of 
sodden  earth,  the  walls  and  roof  of  damp 
bare  brick  tapestried  with  the  tracks  of 
snails  and  slugs ;  the  air  was  sickening, 
tainted  and  offensive.  It  seemed,  from 
one  strong  flavour  which  was  uppermost 
among  the  various  odours  of  the  place, 
that  it  had,  at  no  very  distant  period,  been 
used  as  a  storehouse  for  cheeses ;  a  cir- 
cumstance which,  while  it  accounted  for 
the  greasy  moisture  that  hung  about  it, 
was  agreeably  suggestive  of  rats.  It  was 
naturally  damp,  besides,  and  little  trees  of 
fungus  sprung  from  every  mouldering  cor- 
ner. 

The  proprietor  of  this  charming  retreat, 
and  owner  of  the  ragged  head  before  men 
tioned — for  he  wore  an  old  tie-wig  as  bare 
and  frouzy  as  a  stunted  hearth-broom  — 
had  by  this  time  joined  them  ;  and  stood  a 
little  apart,  rubbing  his   hands,  wagging 


42 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


his  honry  hristled  chin,  and  smiling  in  si- 
lence. iJis  eyes  were  closed;  hut  had 
tliey  been  wide  open,  it  would  have  been 
easy  to  tell,  from  the  attentive  expression 
of  the  face  he  turned  towards  thorn — pale 
and  unwholesome  as  n.ight  be  expected  in 
one  of  his  underground  existence  —  and 
from  a  certain  anxious  raising  and  quiver- 
ing of  the  lids,  that  he  was  blind. 

•'  I'>en  Stagg  hath  been  asleep,"  said 
the  long  comrade,  nodding  towards  this 
person. 

"  Sound,  captain,  sound !"  cried  the 
blind  man-  "\Vhat  does  my  noble  captain 
drink  —  is  it  hrandy,  rum,  usquebaugh'? 
Is  it  soaked  gunpowder,  or  blazing  oil  1 
Give  it  a  name,  heart  of  oak,  and  we'd 
get  it  for  you,  if  it  was  wine  from  a  bish- 
op's cellar,  or  melted  gold  from  King 
George's  mint." 

"  See,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily, 
'•that  it's  something  strong,  and  comes 
quick  ;  and  so  long  as  you  take  care  of 
that,  you  may  bring  it  from  the  devil's  cel- 
lar, if  you  like." 

"  ijoldly  said,  noble  captain  !"  rejoined 
the  blind  man.  "  Spoken  like  the  'Prenti- 
ces' Glory.  Ha,  ha  !  From  the  devil's 
cellar  !  A  brave  joke  !  The  captain  joketh. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  my  fine  feller,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  eyeing  the  host  over  as  he 
walked  to  a  closet,  and  took  out  a  bottle 
and  glass  as  carelessly  as  if  he  had  been 
in  full  possession  of  his  sight,  "if  you 
make  that  row,  you'll  find  that  the  cap- 
tain 's  very  far  from  joking,  and  so  I  tell 
you." 

"  He 's  got  his  eyes  on  me  !"  cried 
Stagg,  stopping  short  on  his  way  back, 
and  affecting  to  screen  his  face  with  the 
bottle.  "  I  feel  'em  though  I  can't  see 
'em.  Take  'em  off,  noble  captain.  Re- 
move 'em,  for  they  pierce  like  gimlets." 

Mr.  Tappertit  smiled  grimly  at  his  com- 
rade ;  and  twisting  out  one  more  look — a 
kind  of  ocular  screw — under  the  influence 
of  which  tlie  blind  man  feigned  to  undergo 
great  anguish  and  torture,  bade  him,  in 
a  softened  tone,  approach  and  hold  his 
peace. 

"  I  obey  you,  captain,"  cried  Stagg, 
drawing  close  to  him,  and  filling  out  a 
bumper  without  spilling  a  drop,  by  reason 
that  he  held  his  little  finger  at  the  brim  of 
the  glass,  and  stopped  at  the  instant  the 
liquor  touched  it.  "  Drink,  noble  ijovernor. 
Death  to  all  masters,  lite  to  all  'prentices, 
and  love  to  all  fair  damsels.  Drink,  brave 
genera  ,  and  warm  your  gallant  heart !" 

Mr.  Tappertit  condescended  to  take  the 
grass  from  his  outstretched  hand.  Stagg 
tiien   dropped   on   one   knee,   and   gently  I 


smoothed  the  calves  of  his  legs,  with  an 
air  of  humble  admiration. 

"Thatl  had  but  eyes!"  he  cried,  "to 
behold  my  captain's  symmetrical  propor- 
tions! That  1  had  but  eyes,  to  look  upon 
these  twin  invaders  of  domestic  peace  I" 

"Get  out !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  glanc- 
ing downward  at  his  favourite  limbs. 

"  Go  along  will  you,  Stagg  !" 

"  When  1  touch  my  own  afterwards," 
cried  the  host,  smiting  them  reproachfully, 
"  I  hate  'em.  Comparatively  speaking, 
they  've  no  more  shape  than  wooden  legs, 
beside  these  models  of  my  noble  cap 
tain's," 

"  Yours  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Tapi^ertit, 
"  No,  I  should  think  not.  Don't  talk 
about  those  precious  old  toothpicks  in  the 
same  breath  with  mine;  that's  rather  too 
much.  Here.  Take  the  glass.  Benjamin. 
Lead  on.     To  business  !" 

With  these  words,  he  folded  his  arms 
again;  and,  frowning  with  a  sullen  ma- 
jesty, passed  with  his  companion  through 
a  little  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  cellar, 
and  disappeared ;  leaving  Stagg  to  his 
private  meditations. 

The  vault  they  entered,  strewn  with 
sawdust,  and  dimly  lighted,  was  between 
the  outer  one  from  %vhich  they  had  just 
come,  and  that  in  which  the  skittle-players 
were  diverting  themselves;  as  was  mani- 
fested by  the  increased  noise  and  clamoui 
of  tongues,  which  was  suddenly  sto])ped, 
however,  and  replaced  by  a  dead  silence 
at  a  signal  from  the  long  comrade.  Then 
this  young  gentleman  goirir  to  a  little  cup- 
board, returned  with  a  thioh  bone,  which 
in  former  times  must  have  been  part  and 
parcel  of  some  individual,  at  least  as  long 
as  himself,  and  placed  the  same  in  the 
hands  of  Mr.  Tappertit ;  who,  receiving 
it  as  a  sceptre  and  staff  of  authority,  cock- 
ed his  three-cornered  hat  fiercely  on  the 
top  of  his  head,  and  mounted  a  larffe  table 
whereon  a  chair  of  state,  cheerfully  orna- 
mented with  a  couple  of  skulls,  was  placed 
ready  for  his  reception. 

He  liad  no  sooner  assumed  this  position, 
than  another  young  gentleman  appeared, 
bearing  in  his  arms  a  huge  clasped  book, 
who  made  him  a  profound  obeisance,  and 
delivering  it  to  the  long  comrade,  ad\-anced 
to  the  table,  and  turning  his  back  upon  it, 
stood  there  Atlas-wise.  Then,  the  long 
comrade  got  upon  the  table  too;  and  seat- 
ing liimself  in  a  lower  chair  than  IMr.  Tap- 
pertit's,  with  much  state  and  ceremony, 
placed  the  larire  book  on  the  shoulders  of 
their  mute  companion  as  deliberately  as  if 
he  had  been  a  wooden  desk,  and  prepared 
to  make  entries  therein  with  a  pen  cf  co> 
responding  size 


BARNAB  Y   R  UDGE. 


43 


When  the  longr  comrade  had  made  these 
preparations,  he  looked  towards  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit ;  and  Mr.  Tappertit,  flourishing  the 
bone,  knocked  nine  times  therewith  upon 
one  of  the  skulls.  At  the  ninth  stroke,  a 
third  younff  g-entleman  emerged  from  the 
door  leading  to  the  skittle  orround,  and 
bowing  low,  awaited  his  commands. 

"  'Prentice  I*'  said  the  mighty  captain, 
"  who  waits  without  ]" 

The  'prentice  made  answer  that  a 
stransrer  was  in  attendance,  who  claimed 
admission  into  that  secret  society  of 'Pren- 
tice Kniorhts,  and  a  free  participation  in 
their  rijhts,  privilegres,  and  inimuniiies. 
Thereupf^n  Mr.  Tappertit  flourished  the 
bone  anrain,  and  triving  the  other  skull  a 
prodigious  rap  on  the  nose,  exclaimed, 
"admit  him!"'  At  these  dread  words 
t>ie  'prentice  bowed  once  more,  and  so 
withdrew  as  he  had  come. 

There  soon  appeared,  at  the  sJime  door, 
two  other  'prentices,  having  between  them 
a  third,  whose  eyes  were  bandaged,  and 
^howas  attired  in  a  bag  wig,  and  a  broad- 
skirted  coat,  trimmed  with  tarnished  lace ; 
and  who  was  girded  with  a  sword,  in  com- 
pliance with  the  laws  of  the  Institution 
regulating  the  introduction  of  candidates, 
which  required  them  to  assume  this  court- 
ly dress,  and  kept  it  constantly  in  lavender, 
for  their  convenience.     One  of  the  con- 


•  ductors  of  this  novice  held  a  rusty  blun- 

i  derbuss  pointed  towards  his  ear,  and  the 
other  a  very  ancient  sabre,  with  which  he 
carved  imaginary  otfenders  as  he  came  along 
in  a  sangiiinary  and  anatomical  manner. 

As  this  silent  group  advanced.  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit fixed  his  hat  upon  his  head.     The 

I  novice  then  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast 
and  bent  before  him.     When  he  had  hum- 

I  bled  himself  sufficiently,  the  captain  or- 
dered  the  bandage   to   be   removed,    and 

]  proceeded  to  eye  him  over. 

i  "  Ha !"  said  the  captain,  thoughtfully, 
when  he  had  concluded  this  ordeal.  "  Pro- 
ceed," 

1  The  long  comrade  read  aloud  as  follows  : 
— "  Mark  Gilbert.  Age.  nineteen.  Bound 
to  Thomas  Ciirzon,  hosier,  Golden  Fleece, 
Aldgate.    Loves  Curzon's  daughter.    Can- 

:  not  say  that  Curzon's  daughter  loves  him. 

j  Should  think  it  probable.  Curzon  pulled 
his  ears  last  Tuesday  wpek." 

I      "  How  I*'  cried  the  captain,  starting-, 

■  "For  looking  at  his  daughter,  pleasa 
you,"  said  the  novice. 

"  Write  Curzon  down.  Denounced,"  said 
the  captain.  "  Put  a  black  cross  against 
the  name  of  Curzon." 

'  "  So  please  you."  said  the  novice, "  that  'a 
not  the  worst —  he  calls  his  'prentice  idle 
dog.  and  stops  his  beer  unless  he  works  to 
his  liking.     He  gives  Dutch  cheese  loo. 


44 


BARNAB  Y    RUDGE. 


eating  (.'heshire  sir,  himself;  and  Sundays 
oul,  are  only  once  a  month." 

"Tiiis,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  gravely,  "  is 
a  flagrant  case.  Put  two  black  crosses  to 
the  name  of  Curzoii." 

"  If  the  society,"  said  the  novice,  who 
was  an  ill-looking,  one-sided,  shambling 
lad,  with  sunken  eyes  set  close  together  in 
his  head — "if  the  society  would  burn  his 
house  down — for  he 's  not  insured — or  beat 
him  as  he  comes  home  from  his  club  at 
night,  or  help  me  to  carry  off  his  daughter, 
and  marry  her  at  the  Fleet,  whether  she 
gave  consent  or  no — " 

Mr.  Tappertit  waved  his  grizzly  trun- 
cheon as  an  admonition  to  him  not  to  in- 
terrupt, and  ordered  three  black  crosses  to 
the  name  of  Curzon. 

"  Which  means,"  he  said  in  gracious 
explanation,  "vengeance,  complete  and 
terrible.  'Prentice,  do  you  love  the  Con- 
stitution 1" 

To  which  the  novice  (being  to  that  end 
instructed  by  his  attendant  sponsors)  re- 
plied "I  do!" 

"The  church,  the  State,  and  everything 
established — but  the  masters  ? "  quoth  the 
captain. 

Again  the  novice  said  "I  do." 

Having  said  it,  he  listened  meekly  to 
the  captain,  who,  in  an  address  prepared 
for  such  occasions,  told  him  how  that  un- 
der that  same  Constitution  (which  was 
kept  in  a  strong  box  somewhere,  but  where 
exactly  he  could  not  find  out,  or  he  would 
have  endeavoured  to  procure  a  copy  of  it), 
the  'prentices  had,  in  times  gone  by,  had 
frequent  holidays  of  right,  broken  people's 
heads  by  scores,  defied  their  masters,  nay, 
even  achieved  some  glorious  murders  in 
the  streets,  which  privileges  had  gradually 
been  wrested  from  them,  and  in  all  which 
noble  aspirations  they  were  now  restrained  ; 
how  the  degrading  checks  imposed  upon 
them,  were  unquestionably  attributable  to 
the  innovating  spirit  of  the  times,  and  how 
they  united  therefore  to  resist  all  change, 
except  such  change  as  would  restore  those 
good  old  English  customs,  by  which  they 
would  stand  or  fall.  After  illustrating  the 
wisdom  of  going  backward,  by  reference  to 
that  sagacious  fish,  the  crab,  and  the  not 
unfrequent  practice  of  the  mule  and  don- 
key, he  descril)i"d  their  general  objects ; 
which  were  briefly  vengeance  on  their 
Tyrant  Masters  (of  whose  grievous  and 
insupportable  oppression  no  'prentice  could 
entertain  a  nioment's  doubt)  and  the  re- 
storati.'.r..  ss  aforesaid,  of  their  ancient 
rights  and  holidays;  for  neither  of  which 
objects  were  they  now  quite  ripe,  being 
Jtarely  twenty  strong,  hut  which  they 
)ded(rpd  themselves  to  pursue  with  fire  and 
sword  when  needful.     Then  he  described 


the  oath  which  every  member  of  that  small 
remnant  of  a  noble  body  took,  and  which 
was  of  a  dreadful  and  in)pressive  kind; 
binding  him,  at  the  bidding  of  his  chief,  to 
resist  and  obstruct  the  Lord  Mayor,  sword 
bearer,  and  chaplain ;  to  despise  the  au- 
thority of  the  sherifls ;  and  to  hold  the 
court  of  aldermen  as  nought;  but  not  on 
any  account,  in  case  the  fullness  of  time 
should  bring  a  general  rising  of 'prentices, 
to  damage  or  in  any  way  disfigure  Temple 
Bar,  which  was  strictly  constitutional  and 
always  to  be  approached  with  reverence. 
Having  gone  over  these  several  heads  with 
great  eloquence  and  force,  and  having 
further  informed  the  novice  that  this  society 
had  had  its  oiigin  in  his  own  teeming  brain, 
stimulated  by  a  swelling  sense  of  wrong 
and  outrage,  Mr.  Tappertit  demanded 
whether  he  had  strength  of  heart  to  take 
the  mighty  pledge  required,  or  whether  he 
would  withdraw  while  retreat  was  yet 
within  his  power. 

To  this,  the  novice  made  rejoinder  that 
he  would  take  the  vow,  though  it  should 
choak  him;  and  it  was  accordingly  ad- 
ministered with  many  impressive  circum- 
stances, among  which  the  lighting  up  of 
the  two  skulls  with  a  candle-end  inside  of 
each,  and  a  great  many  flourishes  with  the 
bone,  were  chiefly  conspicuous ;  not  to 
mention  a  variety  of  grave  exercises  with 
the  blunderbuss  and  sabre,  and  some  dis- 
mal groaning  by  unseen  'prentices  without. 
All  these  dark  and  direful  ceremonies  being 
at  length  completed,  the  table  was  pul 
aside,  the  chair  of  state  removed,  the  scep- 
tre locked  up  in  its  usual  cupboard,  the  door? 
of  communication  between  the  three  cel- 
lars thrown  freely  open,  and  then  'Prentic* 
Knights  resigned  themselves  to  merriment. 

But  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  had  a  soul  abovf 
the  vulgar  herd,  and  who,  on  account  of 
his  greatness,  could  only  afford  to  be  inerrj 
now  and  then,  threw  himself  on  a  bencj. 
with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  faint  with 
dignity.  He  looked  with  an  indilferen. 
eye,  alike  on  skittles,  cards,  and  diet, 
thinking  only  of  the  locksmith's  daughter, 
and  the  base  degenerate  days  on  which  he 
had  fallen. 

"  My  noble  captain  neither  games,  nor 
sings,  nor  dances,"  said  his  host  taking  a 
seat  beside  him.  "  Drink,  gallant  general  !" 

Mr.  Tappertit  drained  the  proflft^red  go- 
blet to  the  dregs:  then  thrust  his  hands 
into  his  pockets,  and  with  a  lowering 
visage  walked  among  the  skittles,  whilo 
his  followers  (such  is  the  influence  of  sti- 
perior  erenius)  restrained  the  ardent,  hall, 
and  held  his  little  shins  in  dumb  respccr.. 

"  If  I  had  been  born  a  corsair  or  a  pirate, 
a  brigand,  gen-teel  highwayman  or  jiatnot 
—  and  they're  the  same  tning,"  though' 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


45 


Mr.  Tapportit,  musing  amontr  the  nine-  i 
pins,  "  I  should  have  heen  all  right.  But 
to  draor  out  a  ignoble  existence  unbeknown  I 
to  mankind  in  general — patience  !  1  will 
be  famous  yet.  A  voice  within  me  kteps? 
on  whispering  Greatness.  I  shall  burst 
•  out  one  of  these  days,  and  when  1  do,  what 
power  can  keep  me  down  I  1  feel  my  soul 
getting  into  my  head  at  the  idea.  More 
diink  there !" 

"  The  novice,'"  pursued  Mr.  Tappertit, 
not  exactly  in  a  voice  of  thunder,  for  his 
tones,  to  say  the  truth,  were  rather  cracked 
and  shrill,  —  but  very  impressively,  not- 
witiistanding — "  where  is  he  ?" 

"Here,  noble  captain!"  cried  Stagg.  "One 
stands  beside  me  who  I  feel  is  a  stranger.'' 

"  Have  you,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  letting 
liis  gaze  fall  on  the  party  indicated,  who 
was  indeed  the  new  knight,  by  this  time  re- 
stored to  his  own  apparel ;  "  Have  you  the 
impression  of  your  street-door  key  in  wax  1" 

The  long  comrade  anticipated  the  reply, 
by  producing  it  from  the  shelf  on  which 
it  had  been  deposited. 

"  Good,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  scrutiniz- 
ing it  attentively,  while  a  breathless  silence 
reigned  around  ;  for  he  had  constructed  se- 
cret door-keys  for  the  whole  society,  and 
perhaps  owed  something  of  his  influence 
to  that  mean  and  trivial  circumstance — on 
such  slight  accidents  do  even  men  of  mind 
depend  I — "This  is  easily  made.  Come 
hither,  friend." 

With  that,  he  beckoned  the  new  knight 
apart,  and  putting  the  pattern  in  his  pocket, 
motioned  to  him  to  walk  by  his  side. 

"  And  so,"  he  said,  when  they  had  taken 
a  few  turns  up  and  down,  "  you — you  love 
your  master's  daughter^" 

"  I  do."  said  the  'prentice.  "  Honour 
bright. — Xo  chaff,  you  know." 

"  Have  you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Tappertit, 
catching  him  by  the  wrist,  and  giving  him 
a  look  which  would  have  been  expressive 
of  the  most  deadly  malevolence,  but  for  an 
'accidental  hiccup  that  rather  interfered  with 
it;  "  have  you  a — a  rival  T" 

"Not  as  I  know  on,"  replied  the 'prentice. 

"If  you  had  now — "  said  Mr.  Tapper- 
lit — "  what  would  you — eh —  ]" 

The  'prentice  looked  fierce  and  clenched 
his  fists. 

"It  is  enough,"  cried  Mr. Tappertit  has- 
tily, "we  understand  each  other.  We  are 
observed.     I  thank  you." 

So  saying,  he  cast  him  off  again;  and 
calling  the  long  comrade  aside  after  taking 
a  few  hasty  turns  by  himself,  bade  him  im- 


mediately write  and  post  against  the  wall, 
a  notice,  proscribing  one  Jos(  ph  Willet 
(commonly  known  as  Joe),  of  Chigwell; 
forbidding  all  'Prentice  Knights  to  suc- 
cour, comfort,  or  hold  communion  with 
him;  and  requiring  them,  on  pain  of  e* 
communication,  to  molest,  hurt,  wrong,  an- 
noy, and  pick  quarrels  with  the  said  Joseph, 
whensoever  and  wheresoever  they  or  any 
of  them,  should  happen  to  encountei  him. 

Having  relieved  his  mind  by  this  ener- 
getic proceeding,  he  condescended  to  ap- 
proach the  festive  board,  and  warming  by 
degrees,  at  length  deigned  to  preside  and 
even  to  enchant  the  company  with  a  song. 
After  this,  he  rose  to  such  a  pitch  as  to  con- 
sent to  regale  the  society  with  a  hornpipe, 
which  he  actually  performed  to  the  music 
of  a  fiddle  (played  by  an  ingenious  mem- 
ber), with  such  surpassing  agility  and  bril- 
liancy of  execution,  that  the  s])ectators 
could  not  be  sufficiently  enthusiastic  in 
their  admiration,  and  their  host  protest- 
ed, with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  had  never 
truly  felt  his  blindness  until  that  moment. 

But  the  host  withdrawing — probably  to 
weep  in  secret — soon  returned  with  the  in- 
formation that  it  wanted  little  more  than 
an  hour  of  day,  and  that  all  the  cocks  in 
Barbican  had  already  begun  to  crow,  as  if 
their  lives  depended  on  it.  At  this  intelli- 
gence the  'Prentice  Knights  arose  in  haste, 
and  marshalling  into  a  line,  filed  off  one  by 
one  and  dispersed  with  all  speed  to  their 
several  homes,  leaving  their  leader  to  pass 
the  grating  last. 

"  Good  night,  noble  captain,''  whispered 
the  blind  man  as  he  held  it  open  for  his 
passage  out;  "Farewell,  brave  general. 
Bye,  bye,  illustrious  commander.  Good 
luck  go  with  you  for  a — conceited,  brag- 
ging, empty-headed,  duck-legged  idiot." 

With  which  parting  words,  coolly  added 
as  he  listened  to  his  receding  footsteps  and 
locked  the  grate  upon  himself,  he  descend- 
ed the  steps,  and  lighting  the  fire  below 
the  little  copper,  prepared,  without  any  as- 
sistance, for  his  daily  occupation;  which 
was  to  retail  at  the  area-head  above  penny- 
worths of  broth  and  soup,  and  savoury  pud- 
dings compounded  of  such  scraps  as  were 
to  be  boiight  in  the  heap  for  the  least  mo 
ney  at  Fleet  Market  in  the  eveningr  time; 
and  for  the  sale  of  which  he  had  need  to 
have  depended  chiefly  on  his  private  con- 
nexion;  for  the  court  had  no  thorjughfare, 
and  was  not  that  kind  of  place  in  which 
many  people  were  likely  to  take  the  air, 
or  to  frequent  as  an  agreeable  promenade. 


CHAPTER  THE   NINTH. 

Chroniclers    are    privileged    to    enter  1  keyholes,  to  ride  upon  the  wind,  to  ovei' 
where  they  list,  to  come  and  go  through  |  come,  in  their  soarings  up  and  down,  ax.' 


46 


BARNAUY    RUDGE 


obstacles  of  distance,  time,  and  place. 
Thrice  blessed  be  tiiis  last  considoration, 
since  it  enables  us  to  follow  the  disdainful 
Mij^irs  even  into  the  sanctity  of  her  cham- 
ber, and  10  hold  her  in  sweet  companion- 
ship ihroui^li  the  dreary  watches  of  the  niirht! 

Miss  Miirirs,  having  undone  her  mistress, 
as  she  plirased  it  (which  means,  assisted 
to  undress  her),  and  liaving  seen  her  com- 
fortably to  bed  in  the  back  room  on  tl\e  first 
floor,  withdrew  to  lier  own  apartment,  in 
the  attic  story.  Notwithstanding  her  de- 
claration in  the  locksmith's  presence,  she 
was  ill  no  mood  for  sleep;  so,  putting  her 
light  upon  the  table  and  withdi awing  the 
little  window-curtain,  she  gazed  out  pen- 
sively at  the  wild  night  sky. 

Perhaps  she  wondered  what  siar  was 
destined  for  her  habitation  when  she  had 
nm  her  little  course  below  ;  j)erhaps  spec- 
ulated which  of  those  glimmering  spiieres 
might  be  the  natal  orb  of  iMr.  Tappertit; 
perhaps  marvelled  how  they  could  gaze 
down  on  that  perfidious  creature,  man,  and 
not  sicken  and  turn  green  as  chemists' 
lamps ;  perhaps  thought  of  nothing  in  par- 
ticular. Whatever  she  thought  about,  there 
she  sat,  until  her  attention,  alive  to  any- 
thing connected  with  the  insinuating  'pren- 
tice, was  attracted  by  a  noise  in  the  next 
room  to  her  own — his  room;  the  room  in 
which  he  slept,  and  dreamed — it  might  be, 
sometimes  dreamed  of  her. 

That  he  was  not  dreaming  now,  unless 
he  was  taking  a  walk  in  his  sleep,  was 
clear,  for  every  now  and  then  there  came  a 
shuffling  noise,  as  though  he  were  engaged 
in  polisliing  the  whitewashed  wall ;  then 
a  gentle  creaking  of  his  door;  then  the 
faintest  indication  of  his  stealthy  footsteps 
on  the  landing-place  outside.  Noting  this 
latter  circumstance.  Miss  Miggs  turned  pale 
and  shuddered,  as  mistrusting  his  inten- 
tions ;  and  more  than  once  exclaimed,  below 
her  breath.  "  Oh  !  what  a  Providence  it  is 
as  I  am  bolted  in !"  which,  owing  doubtless 
to  her  alarm,  was  a  confusion  of  ideas  on 
her  part  between  a  bolt  and  its  use ;  for 
though  there  was  one  on  the  door,  it  was 
not  fastened. 

Miss  Miggs's  sense  of  hearing,  how- 
ever, having  as  sharp  an  edge  as  her  tem- 
per;  and  being  of  the  same  snappish  and 
suspicious  kind,  very  soon  informed  her 
lliai  the  footsteps  passed  her  door,  and  ap- 
peared to  have  some  object  cjuite  separate 
and  disconnected  from  herself.  At  this 
discovery  she  became  more  alarmed  tlian 
ever,  and  was  about  to  give  utterance  to 
those  cries  of  "■  Thieves  !"  and  "Murder!" 
which  she  had  hitherto  restrained,  when  it 
oec'irred  to  her  to  look  softly  out,  and  see 
that  licT  fears  had  some  good  palpable 
fo'indation 


Looking  out  accordingly,  and  stretching 
her  neck  over  the  hand-rail,  she  descried, 
to  her  great  amazement,  Mr.  Tapprrtit 
completely  dressed,  stealing  down  stairs, 
one  step  at  a  time,  with  his  shoes  in  one 
hand  and  a  lamp  in  the  other.  Following 
him  with  her  eyes,  and  going  down  a  VmUy. 
way  herself  to  get  the  better  of  an  inter- 
vening angle,  she  beheld  him  thrust  his 
head  in  at  the  parlour  door,  draw  it  back 
again  with  great  swiftness,  and  immediate- 
ly begin  a  retreat  up  stairs  with  all  possi- 
ble expedition. 

"Here's  mysteries!"  said  the  damsel, 
when  she  was  safe  in  her  own  room  again, 
quite  out  of  breath.  "  Oh  gracious,  here  '& 
mysteries !" 

The  prospect  of  finding  anybody  out  in 
anything,  would  have  kept  Miss  Miggs 
awake  under  the  influence  of  henbane. 
Presently  she  heard  the  step  again,  as  she 
would  have  done  if  it  had  been  that  of  a 
feather  endowed  with  motion  and  walking 
down  on  tiptoe.  Then  gliding  out  as  be- 
fore, she  again  beheld  the  retreating  figure 
of  the  'prentice ;  again  he  looked  cautious- 
ly in  at  the  parlour  door,  but  this  time,  in- 
stead of  retreating,  he  passed  in  and  disap- 
peared. 

Miggs  was  back  in  her  room,  and  had 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  before  an  el- 
derly gentleman  could  have  winked  and  re- 
covered from  it.  Out  he  came  at  the  street 
door,  shut  it  carefully  behind  him,  tried  it 
with  his  knee,  and  swaggered  ofl',  putting 
something  in  his  pocket  as  he  went  along. 
At  this  spectacle  Miggs  cried  "  Gracious  !" 
again,  and  then  "  Goodness  gracious !" 
and  then,  "  Goodness  gracious  me!"  and 
then,  candle  in  hand,  went  down  stairs  as 
he  had  done.  Coming  to  the  workshop, 
she  saw  the  lamp  burning  on  the  forge, 
and  everything  as  Sim  had  left  it. 

"Why  I  wish  I  may  only  have  a  walk- 
ing funeral,  and  never  be  buried  decent 
with  a  mourning  coach  and  featiiers,  if  the 
boy  hasn't  been  and  made  a  key  for  his  own 
self!"  cried  Miggs.  "  Oh  the  little  villain  !" 

This  conclusion  was  not  arrived  at  with- 
out consideration,  and  much  peeping  and 
peering  about,  nor  was  it  unassisted  by  the 
recollection  that  she  had  on  several  occa- 
sions come  upon  the  'prentice  suddenly, 
and  found  him  busy  at  some  mysterious 
occupation.  Lest  the  fact  of  Miss  Miggs 
calling  him,  on  whom  she  stooped  to  cast 
a  favourable  eye,  a  boy,  should  create  sur- 
prise in  any  breast,  it  may  be  observed  that 
she  invariably  afiected  to  regard  all  male 
bipeds  under  thirty  as  mere  chits  and  in- 
fants; which  phenomenon  is  not  unusual 
in  ladies  of  Miss  Miggs's  temper,  and  is 
indeed  generally  f  umd  to  be  the  associate 
of  such  indomitable  and  savage  virtue. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


47 


Miss  Mijgs  deliberated  within  herself 
for  some  little  time,  looking  hard  at  tlie 
shop  door  while  she  did  so,  as  though  her 
eyes  and  thoughts  were  both  upon  it;  and 
then,  tai<in<r  a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  drawer, 
twisted  it  into  a  long  tliin  spiral  tube. 
Having  filled  this  instrument  with  a  quan- 
tity of  small  coal  dust  from  the  forge,  she 
approached  the  door,  and  dropping  on  one 
knee  before  it,  dexterously  blew  into  tlie 
keyhole  as  much  of  these  fine  ashes  as 
the  lock  would  hold.  When  she  had  filled 
it  to  the  brim  in  a  very  workmanlike  and 
skilful  manner,  sue  crept  up  stairs  again, 
and  chuckled  as  she  went. 

"There!"  cried  Miggs,  rubbing  her 
hands,  "  now  let's  see  whether  yon  won't 
be  glad  to  take  some  notice  of  me,  mister. 


He,  he,  he !  You  '11  have  eyes  tor  some- 
body besides  Miss  Dolly  now,  I  think.  A 
fat-faced  puss  she  is,  as  ever  /  come 
across !" 

As  she  uttered  this  criticism,  she  nlanced 
approvingly  at  her  small  mirror,  as  who 
should  say,  I  thank  my  stars  that  can't  be 
said  of  me  ! — as  it  certainly  could  not;  for 
Miss  Miggs's  style  of  beauty  was  of  that 
kind  which  Mr.  Tappertit  himself  !iad  not 
inaptly  termed,  in  private,  "scraggy." 

"  I  don't  go  to  bed  this  night !"  said 
Miggs,  wrapping  herself  in  a  shawl,  draw- 
ing a  couple  of  chairs  near  the  window, 
flouncing  down  upon  one,  and  putting  her 
feet  upon  the  otiier,  "  till  you  come  home 
my  lad.  I  wouldn't,"  said  Miggs  vicious- 
ly, "  no,  not  for  five-and-forty  pound  !" 


With  thai,  and  with  an  expression  of 
face  in  which  a  great  number  of  opposite 
ingredients,  such  as  mischief,  cunning,  ma- 
lice, triuiTlph,  and  patient  expectation  were 
all  mixed  up  together  in  a  kind  of  physi- 
ognomical punch.  Miss  Miggs  composed 
herself  to  wait  and  listen,  like  some  fair 
ogress  who  had  set  a  trap  and  was  watching 


for  a  nibble  from  a  plump  young  traveller. 
Slie  sat  there,  with  perfect  composure,  all 
night.  At  length,  just  upon  break  of  day, 
there  was  a  footstep  in  the  street,  and  pre- 
sently siie  could  hear  Mr.  Tappertit  siup  at 
the  door.  Then  she  could  make  nut  that 
he  tried  his  key  —  that  he  was  blowing 
into  it  —  that  he  knocked  it  on  '.he  nearesi 


48 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


post  to  beat  the  dust  out — that  he  took  it 
under  a  lamp  to  look  at  it — that  he  poked 
bits  of  stick  into  tlie  lock  to  clear  it — that 
he  peeped  into  the  keyhole,  first  with  one 
eye,  and  then  with  the  other — that  he  tried 
the  key  again  —  that  he  couldn't  turn  it, 
and  what  was  worse  couldn't  get  it  out  — 
that  he  bent  it — that  then  it  was  much  less 
disposed  to  come  out  than  before — that  he 
gave  it  a  mighty  twist  and  a  great  pull, 
and  then  it  came  out  so  suddenly  that  he 
staggered  backwards  —  that  he  kicked  the 
door — that  he  shook  it  —  finally,  that  he 
smote  his  forehead,  and  sat  down  on  the 
step  in  despair. 

When  this  crisis  had  arrived.  Miss 
Miggs,  affecting  to  be  exhausted  with  ter- 
ror, and  to  cling  to  the  window-sill  for 
support,  put  out  her  night-cap,  and  de- 
manded in  a  faint  voice  who  was  there. 

Mr.  Tappertit  cried  "  Hush  !"  and,  back- 
ing into  the  road,  exhorted  her  in  frenzied 
pantomime  to  secresy  and  silence. 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,  said  xMiggs.  "  Is  it 
thieves'!" 

"No — no — no!"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"Then,"  said  Miggs,  more  faintly  than 
before,  "it's  fire.  Where  is  it,  sir?  It's 
near  this  room,  I  know.  I  've  a  good  con- 
science, sir,  and  would  much  rather  die 
than  go  down  a  ladder.  All  I  wish  is,  re- 
specting my  love  to  my  married  sister, 
Golden  Lion  Court,  number  twenty-siven, 
second  bell-handle  on  the  right  hand  door 
post." 

"  Miggs  !"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  "  don't 
you  know  me  1    Sim,  you  know — Sim — " 

"Oh!  what  about  him  !"  cried  Miggs, 
clasping  her  hands.  "Is  he  in  any  danger? 
Is  he  in  the  midst  of  flames  and  blazes  1 
Oh  gracious,  gracious !" 

"  Why  I'm  here,  a'n't  I?"  rejoined  Mr. 
Tappertit.  knocking  himself  on  the  breast. 
"Don't  you  see  me?  What  a  fool  you 
are,  Miggs !" 

"There!"  cried  Miggs,  unmindful  of 
this  compliment.  "Why — soil — Goodness, 
what  is  the  meaning  of — If  you  please 
Mim  here's — " 

"  No,  no  !"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe,  as  if  by  that  means  he,  in 
the  street,  were  any  nearer  being  able  to 
stop  the  mouth  of  Miggs  in  the  garret. 
"Don't!  I've  been  out  without  leave, 
and  something  or  another 's  the  matter 
with  the  lock.  Come  down,  and  undo  the 
shop  window,  that  I  may  get  in  that  way." 

"  I  durstn't  do  it,  Simmun,"  cried  Miggs, 
for  that  was  her  pronunciation  of  his  chris- 
tian name.  "I  durstn't  do  it.  indeed.  You 
know  as  well  as  anybody,  how  particular 
I  am.  And  to  come  down  in  the  dead  of 
night,  when  the  house  is  wra])ped  in  slum- 
fters  and  weiled  in  obscurity."     And  there 


she  stopped  and  shivered,  for  her  modesty 
caught  cold  at  the  very  thought. 

"  Uut  Miggs,"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  get- 
ting under  the  lani])  lliat  siie  might  see  his 
eyi  s.     "  My  darling  Miggs — " 

Miggs  screamed  slightly. 

" — That  I  love  so  much,  and  never  can 
help  tliinking  of," — and  it  is  impossible  to 
describe  the  use  he  made  of  his  eyes  when 
he  said  this — "  do — for  my  sake,  do." 

"Oh  Simmun,"  cried  Miggs,  "this  is 
worse  than  all.  I  know  if  1  come  down, 
you  '11  go,  and — " 

"And  what,  my  precious?"  said  Mr. 
Tappertit. 

"  And  try,"  said  Miggs,  hysterically, 
"  to  kiss  me,  or  some  such  dreadfulness;  I 
know  you  will !" 

"  I  swear  I  won't,"  said  .Mr.  Tappertit, 
with  remarkable  earnestness.  "Upon  my 
soul  I  won't.  It's  getting  broad  day,  and 
the  watchman  's  waking  up.  Angelic 
Miggs!  If  you '11  only  come  and  let  me  in,  I 
promise  you  faitlifiilly  and  truly  I  won't." 

Miss  Miggs,  whose  gentle  heart  was 
touched,  did  not  wait  for  the  oath  (know- 
ing how  strong  the  temptation  was,  and 
fearing  he  might  forswear  himself),  but 
tripped  lightly  down  the  stairs,  and  with 
her  own  fair  hands  drew  hack  the  rough 
fastenings  of  the  workshop  window.  Hav- 
ing helped  the  wayward  'prentice  in.  she 
faintly  articulated  the  words  "  Simmun  is 
safe !"  and  yielding  to  her  woman's  nature, 
immedia-tely  became  insensible. 

"  I  knew  I  should  quench  her,"  said  Sun, 
rather  embarrassed  by  this  circumstance. 
"  Of  course  I  was  certain  it  would  comt, 
to  this,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done  —  if  I  hadn't  eyed  her  over,  she. 
would'nt  have  coni(>  down.  Here.  Keey 
up  a  minute,  Miggs.  What  a  slippery- 
figure  she  is!  There's  no  holding  iier 
comfortably.  Do  keep  up  a  minute,  Miggs , 
will  you  ]" 

As  Miggs,  however,  was  deaf  to  all  en 
treaties,  Mr.  Tappertit  leant  her  agains' 
the  wall  as  one  might  dispose  of  a  walk- 
ing-stick or  umbrella,  until  he  had  secured* 
the  window,  when  he  took  her  in  his  arms 
an^ain.  and,  in  short  sti-.ges  and  with  muck 
diTiculty  —  arising  mainly  from  her  being 
tall  and  his  being  short,  and  perhaps  in 
some  degree  from  that  peculiar  physical 
conformation  on  which  he  had  already  re- 
marked—  carried  her  up  stairs,  and  plant- 
ing lier,  in  the  same  umbrella  or  w-alking 
stick  fashion,  just  inside  her  own  door,  left 
her  to  her  repose. 

"  He  may  be  as  cool  as  he  likes,"  said 
Miss  Miggs,  recovering  as  soon  as  she  was 
left  alone  ;  "  but  I  'm  in  his  confidence  and 
he  can't  help  himself,  nor  couldn't  if  he 
was  twenty  Sinununses!" 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  TENTH. 


It  was  on  one  of  those  mornings,  com- 
mon in  early  spring,  when  the  year,  fickle 
and  changeable  in  its  youth  like  all  otiier 
created  things,  is  undecided  whether  to 
step  backward  into  winter  or  forward  into 
summer,  and  in  its  uncertainty  inclines 
now  to  the  one  and  now  to  the  other,  and 
now  to  both  at  once — wooing  summer  in 
the  sunshine,  and  lingering  still  with  win- 
ter in  the  shade — it  was,  in  short,  on  one 
of  those  mornings,  when  it  is  hot  and  cold, 
wet  and  dry,  bright  and  lowering,  sad  and 
cheerful,  withering  and  genial,  in  the  com- 
pass of  one  short  hour,  that  old  John  Wil- 
let,  who  was  dropping  asleep  over  the 
copper  boiler,  was  roused  by  the  sound  of 
a  horse's  feet,  and  glancing  out  at  window, 
beheld  a  traveller  of  goodly  promise  check- 
ing his  bridle  at  the  Maypole  door. 

He  was  none  of  your  flippant  young 
fellows,  who  would  call  for  a  tunkard  of 
mulled  ale,  and  make  themselves  as  much 
at  home  as  if  they  had  ordered  a  hogshead 
of  wine;  none  of  your  audacious  young 
swaggerers,  who  would  even  penetrate 
into  the  bar — that  solemn  sanctuary — and, 
smiting  old  John  upon  the  back,  inquire 
if  there  was  never  a  pretty  girl  in  the 
house,  and  where  he  had  hid  his  little 
chambermaids,  with  a  hundred  other  im- 
pertinencies  of  that  nature  ;  none  of  your 
free  and  easy  companions,  who  would 
scrape  their  boots  upon  the  fire-dogs  in  the 
common  room,  and  be  not  at  all  particular 
on  the  subject  of  spittoons;  none  of  your 
unconscionable  blades,  requiring  impossi- 
ble chops,  and  taking  untieard-of  pickles 
'or  granted.  He  was  a  staid,  grave,  placid 
gentleman,  something  past  the  prime  of 
life,  yet  upright  in  his  carriage,  for  all  that, 
and  slim  as  a  greyhound.  He  was  well- 
mounted  upon  a  sturdy  chestnut  cob,  and 
had  the  graceful  seat  of  an  experienced 
horseman  ;  while  his  riding-gear,  thouafh 
free  from  such  fopperies  as  were  then  in 
vogue,  was  handsome  and  well-chosen. 
He  wore  a  riding-coat  of  a  somewhat 
brighter  green  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected to  suit  the  taste  of  a  gentleman  of 
his  years,  with  a  short  black  velvet  cape, 
laced  pocket-holes  and  cuffs,  all  of  a  jv\unty 
fashion;  his  linen,  too,  was  of  the  finest 
kind,  worked  in  a  rich  pattern  at  the  wrists 
and  throat,  and  scrupulously  white.  Al- 
though he  seemed,  judging  from  the  mud 
he  had  picked  up  on  the  way,  to  have 
come  from  London,  his  horse  was  as  smooth 
and  coo!  ns  bis  own  irori-tirev  periwio-  and 
li'g-tail.     Neither  man  nor  beast  had  turned 


a  single  hair;  and,  saving  for  his  soiled 
skirts  and  spatterdashes,  this  gentleman, 
with  his  blooming  face,  white  teeth,  exact- 
ly-ordered dress,  and  perfect  calmness, 
might  have  come  from  making  an  elaborate 
and  leisurely  toilet,  to  sit  for  an  equestrian 
portrait  at  old  John  Willet's  gate. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  John  ob- 
served these  several  characteristics  by 
other  than  very  slow  degrees,  or  that  he 
took  in  more  than  half  a  one  at  a  time,  or 
tiiat  he  even  made  up  his  mind  upon  that, 
without  a  great  deal  of  very  serious  con- 
sideration. Indeed,  if  he  had  been  dis- 
tracted in  the  first  instance  by  questionings 
and  orders,  it  would  have  taken  him  at  the 
least  a  fortnight  to  have  noted  what  is  here 
set  down;  but  it  hap|)ened  that  the  gentle- 
man, being  struck  with  the  old  house,  or 
with  the  plump  pigeons  which  were  skim- 
ming and  curtseying  about  it,  or  with  the 
tall  maypole,  on  the  top  of  which  a  wea- 
thercock, which  had  been  out  of  order  for 
fifteen  years,  performed  a  perpetual  walk 
to  the  nmsic  of  its  own  creaking,  sat  for 
some  little  time  looking  round  in  silence. 
Hence  John,  standing  with  his  hand  upon 
the  horse's  bridle,  and  his  great  eyes  on 
the  rider,  and  with  nothing  passing  to 
divert  his  thoughts,  had  really  got  some 
of  these  little  circumstances  into  his  brain 
by  the  time  he  was  called  upon  to  speak 

"A  quaint  place  this,"  said  the  gentle- 
man—  and  his  voice  was  as  rich  as  his 
dress.     "  Are  you  the  landlord  ]" 

"  At  your  service,  sir,"  replied  John 
Willet. 

"  You  can  give  my  horse  good  stabling, 
can  you,  and  me  an  early  dinner  (I  am  not 
particular  what,  so  that  it  be  cleanly 
served),  and  a  decent  room  —  of  which 
there  seems  to  be  no  lack  in  this  great 
mansion,"  said  the  stranger,  again  running 
his  eves  over  the  exterior. 

"'You  can  have,  sir,"  returned  John, 
with  a  readiness  quite  surprising,  "any- 
thing vou  please." 

"It's  well  I  am  easily  satisfied,"  re- 
turned the  other  with  a  smile,  "  or  that 
mio-ht  prove  a  hardy  pledge,  my  friend." 
And  saying  so,  he  dismounted,  with  the 
aid  of  the  block  before  the  door,  in  a 
twinkling. 

"Halloa  there!  Hugh!"  roared  John 
"  I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,  for  keeping  you 
standing  in  the  porch ;  but  my  son  lias 
gone  to  town  on  business,  and  the  boy 
bein?,  as  I  may  say,  of  a  kind  of  use  i.i' 
me,  I  'm  rather  put  out  when  he  's  a^va> 


50 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


Hugh! — a  dreadful  idle  vagrant  fellow, 
?ir  —  lialf  a  gipsey,  as  1  ihink  —  always 
sleeping  in  the  sun  in  summer,  and  in  the 
straw  in  winter  time,  sir — Hugh!  Dear 
Lord,  to  keep  a  gentleman  a  waiting  here, 
through  him  !— Hugh !  I  wish  that  chap 
was  dead,  I  do  indeed  !" 

"  Possibly  he  is,"  returned  the  other. 
"■  I  should  think  if  he  were  living  he  would 
liave  heard  you  hy  this  time." 

"  In  his  fits  of  laziness,  he  sleeps  so 
desperate  hard,"  said  tl;e  distracted  host. 
"If  you  were  to  fire  off  cannon-balls  into 
his  ears,  it  wouldn't  wake  him,  sir." 

The  guest  made  no  remark  upon  this 
novel  cure  for  drowsiness,  and  recipe  for 
making  people  lively,  but  with  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him  stood  in  the  porch, 
apparently  very  much  amused  to  see  old 
John,  with  the  bridle  in  his  hand,  waver- 
•ng  between  a  strong  impulse  to  abandon 
the  animal  to  his  fate,  and  a  half  disposi- 
tion to  lead  him  into  the  house,  and  shut 
him  up  in  his  parlour,  while  he  waited  on 
his  master. 

"  Pillory  the  fellow,  here  he  is  at  last," 
cried  John,  in  the  very  height  and  zenith 
of  his  distress.  "  Did  you  hear  me  a 
calling,  villain'!" 

The  figure  he  addressed  made  no  answer, 
but  putting  his  hand  upon  the  saddle, 
sprung  into  it  at  a  bound,  turned  the  horse's 
head  towards  the  stable,  and  was  gone  in 
an  instant. 

"  Brisk  enough  when  he  is  awake,"  said 
the  guest. 

"  Brisk  enough,  sir !"  replied  John, 
looking  at  the  place  where  the  horse  had 
been,  as  if  not  yet  understanding  quite 
what  had  become  of  him.  "  He  melts,  I 
think.  He  goes  like  a  drop  of  froth. 
You  look  at  him,  and  there  he  is.  You 
look  at  him  again,  and — there  he  isn't." 

Having,  in  the  absence  of  any  more 
words,  put  this  sudden  climax  to  what  he 
had  faintly  intended  should  be  a  long  ex- 
plaiiation  of  the  whole  life  and  character 
of  his  man,  the  oracular  John  Willet  led 
the  gentleman  up  his  wide  dismantled 
staircase  into  the  Maypole's  best  apart- 
ment. 

It  was  spacious  enough  in  all  con- 
ecience,  occupying  the  whole  depth  of  the 
oouse,  and  having  at  either  end  a  great 
bay  window,  as  large  as  many  modern 
rooms  ;  in  which  some  few  panes  of  stained 
glass,  pmblazoned  with  fragments  of 
armorial  bearinir",  though  cracked,  and 
patched,  and  shattered,  yet  remained ;  at- 
testing, by  their  presence,  that  their  former 
(iwner  had  made  the  very  lio;ht  subservient 
to  his  state,  and  pressed  the  sun  itself  into 
liis  list  of  flatterers;  bidding  it,  when  it 
«hone  into  his  chamber,  reflect  the  badges 


of  his  ancient  family,  and  take  new  hues 
and  colours  from  their  pride. 

But  those  were  old  days,  and  now  every 
little  ray  came  and  went  as  it  would  ; 
telling  the  ])lain,  bare,  searching  truth. 
Although  the  best  room  of  the  inn,  it  had 
the  melancholy  aspect  of  grandeur  in  decay, 
and  was  much  too  vast  for  comfort.  Bich 
rustling  hangings,  waving  on  the  walls ; 
and,  better  far,  the  rustling  of  youth  and 
beauty's  dress;  the  light  of  women's  eyes, 
outshining  the  taper's  and  their  own  rich 
jewels ;  the  sound  of  gentle  tongues,  and 
music,  and  the  tread  of  maiden  feet,  had 
once  been  there,  and  filled  it  with  delioht. 
But  they  were  gone,  and  with  them  all  its 
gladness.  It  was  no  longer  a  home;  chil- 
dren were  never  born  and  bred  there ;  the 
fireside  had  become  mercenary — a  some- 
thing to  be  bought  and  sold — a  very  cour- 
tezan :  let  who  would  die,  or  sit  beside, 
or  leave  it,  it  was  still  the  same — it  missed 
nobody,  cared  for  nobody,  had  equal 
warmth  and  smiles  for  all.  God  help  the 
man  whose  heart  ever  changes  with  the 
world,  as  an  old  mansion  when  it  becomes 
an  inn ! 

No  effort  had  been  made  to  furnish  this 
chilly  waste,  but  before  the  broad  chimney 
a  colony  of  chairs  and  tables  had  been 
planted  on  a  square  of  carpet,  flanked  by 
a  ghostly  screen,  enriched  with  figures, 
grinning  and  grotesque.  After  lighting 
with  his  own  hands  the  faggots  which 
were  heaped  upon  the  hearth,  old  John 
withdrew  to  hold  grave  council  with  his 
cook,  touching  the  stranger's  entertain- 
ment; while  the  guest  himself,  seeing 
small  comfort  in  the  yet  unkindled  Avood, 
opened  a  lattice  in  the  distant  window, 
and  basked  in  a  sickly  gleam  of  cold 
March  sun. 

Leaving  the  window  now  and  then,  to 
rake  the  crackling  logs  together,  or  pace 
the  echoing  room  from  end  to  end,  he  closed 
it  when  the  fire  was  quite  burnt  up,  and 
having  wheeled  the  easiest  chair  into  the 
warmest  corner,  summoned  John  Willet. 

"  Sir,"  said  John. 

He  wanted  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  There 
was  an  old  standish  on  the  high  mantel- 
shelf containing  a  dusty  apology  for  all 
three.  Having  set  this  before  him,  the 
landlord  was  retiring,  when  he  motioned 
him  to  stay. 

"  There  's  a  house  not  far  from  here," 
said  the  guest,  when  he  had  written  a  few 
lines,  "which  you  call  the  Warren,  I  be- 
lieve!" 

As  this  was  said  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
knew  the  fact,  and  asked  the  question  as  a 
thing  of  course,  John  contented  himself 
with  nodding  his  head  in  the  aflirmative: 
at  the  same  time  taking  one  hand  out  of 


his  pockets  to  cough  behind,  and  then  put- 
ing  it  in  again. 

"  I  want  this  note" — said  the  guest, 
glancing  on  what  he  had  written,  and  fold- 
ing it,  "conveyed  there  without  loss  of 
time,  and  an  answer  brought  back  here. 
Have  you  a  messenger  at  hand  1" 

John  was  thoughtful  for  a  minute,  or 
thereabouts,  and  then  said  Yes. 

"  Let  me  see  him,"  said  the  guest. 

This  was  disconcerting ;  for  Joe  being 
out,  and  Hugh  engaged  in  rubbing  down 
the  chesnut  cob,  he  designed  sending  on 
the  errand,  Barnaby,  who  had  just  then 
arrived  in  one  of  his  rambles,  and  who,  so 
that  he  thought  himself  employed  on  grave 
and  serious  business,  would  go  any  where. 

"  Why,  the  truth  is,"  said  John,  after  a 
long  pause,  "that  the  person  who'd  go 
quickest,  is  a  sort  of  natural,  as  one  may 
sav,  sir;  and  though  quick  of  foot,  and  as 
much  to  be  trusted  as  the  post  itself,  he  's 
not  good  at  talking,  being  touched  and 
flighty,  sir." 

"  You  don't"  said  the  guest,  raising  his 
eyes  to  John's  fat  face,  "  you  don't  mean 
— what 's  the  fellow's  name — you  don't 
mean  Barnaby  V 

"  Yes  I  do,'"'  returned  the  landlord,  his  fea- 
tures turning  quite  expressive  with  surprise. 

"How  comes  he  to  be  here]"  inquired 
the  guest,  leaning  back  in  his  chair ;  speak- 
ing in  the  bland  even  tone,  from  which  he 


never  varied  ;  and  with  the  same  soft,  cour- 
teous, never-changing  smile  upon  his  face. 
"  I  saw  him  in  London  last  night." 

"  He  's  for  ever  here  one  liour,  and  there 
the  next,"  returned  old  John,  after  the 
usual  pause  to  get  the  question  in  his  mind. 
"  Sometimes  he  walks,  and  sometimes  runs. 
He 's  known  along  the  road  by  every  body, 
and  sometimes  comes  here  in  a  cart  cr 
chaise,  and  sometimes  riding  double.  He 
cornes  and  goes,  through  wind,  rain,  snow, 
and  hail,  and  on  the  darkest  nights.  No- 
thing hurts  /ii'w." 

"  He  goes  often  to  this  Warren,  does  he 
not"?"  said  the  guest  carelessly.  "I  seem 
to  remember  his  mother  telling  me  some- 
thing to  that  effect  yesterday.  But  I  was 
not  attending  to  the  good  woman  much." 

"  You  're  rig-ht,  sir,"  John  made  anawe., 
"he  does.  His  father,  sir,  was  murdered 
in  that  house." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  returned  the  guest, 
taking  a  gold  toothpick  from  his  pocket 
with  the  same  sweet  smile.  "  A  very  dis 
agreeable  circumstance  for  the  family." 

"Very,"  said  John  with  a  puzzled  look, 
as  if  it  occurred  to  him,  dimly  and  afar  off 
that  this  might  by  possibility  be  a  cool  way 
of  treating  the  subject. 

"All  the  circumstances  after  a  murder, 
said   the   guest   soliloquising,    "  must   be 
dreadfully  unpleasant — so  much  bustle  an<< 
disturbance — no  repose — a  constant  dwell 


52 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


»<ig  upon  one  subject — and  the  running  in 
and  out,  and  up  and  down  stairs,  iniolera- 
ble.  1  wouldn't  have  such  a  thinir  hap- 
pen to  any  body  1  was  nearly  interested  in, 
on  any  account.  'Twould  be  enouirh  to 
wear  one's  life  out. — You  were  goinjr  to 
say,  friend — "  he  added,  turning  to  .John 
again. 

"  Only  that  Mrs.  Rudge  lives  on  a  little 
pension  from  the  fomily,  and  that  Barna- 
by  's  as  free  of  the  house  as  any  cat  or  dog 
about  it,"  answered  John.  "Shall  he  do 
your  errand,  sirT' 

"  Oh  yes,"  replied  the  guest.  "  Oh  cer- 
tainly. Let  him  do  it  by  all  means.  Please 
to  bring  him  here,  that  I  may  charge  him 
to  i)e  quick.  If  he  objects  to  come,  you 
may  tell  him  it's  Mr.  Chester.  He  will 
remember  my  name,  I  dare  say." 

John  was  so  very  much  astonished  to 
find  who  his  visiter  was,  that  he  could  ex- 
press no  astonishment  at  all,  by  looks  or 
otherwise,  but  left  the  room  as  if  he  were 
in  the  most  placid  and  imperturbable  of  all 
possible  conditions.  It  has  been  reported 
that  when  he  got  down  stairs,  he  looked 
steadily  at  the  boiler  for  ten  minutes  by  the 
clock,  and  all  that  time  never  once  left  oif 
shaking  his  head ;  for  which  statement 
there  would  seem  to  be  some  ground  of 
truth  and  feasibility,  inasmuch  as  that  in- 
terval of  time  did  certainly  elapse,  before 
he  returned  with  Barnaby  to  the  guest's 
apartment. 

"  Come  hither,  lad,"  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter.   "  You  know  Mr.  Geoffrey  Haredale." 

Barnaby  laughed,  and  looked  at  the  land- 
lord as  though  he  would  say,  "You  hear 
him  !"  John,  who  was  greatly  shocked  at 
this  breach  of  decorum,  clapped  his  finger 
to  his  nose,  and  shook  his  head  in  mute  re- 
monstrance. 

"  He  knows  him,  sir,"  said  John,  frown- 
ino-  aside  at  Barnaby, "  as  well  as  you  or  I 
do/' 

"I  haven't  the  pleasure  of  much  ac- 
quaintance with  the  gentleman,"  returned 
his  guest.  "  Ydu  may  have.  Limit  the 
comparison  to  yourself,  my  friend." 

Although  this  was  said  with  the  same 
easy  affability,  and  the  same  smile,  John 
felt  himself  put  down,  and  laying  tlie  in- 
dignity at  Barnaby's  door,  determined  to 
kick  his  raven,  on  the  very  first  oppor- 
tunity. 

"  Give  that,"  said  the  guest,  who  had  by 
this  time  sealed  the  note,  and  who  beck- 
oned his  messenger  towards  him  as  he 
epoke,  "  in+o  Mr.  Haredale's  own  hands. 
Wait  for  an  answer,  and  bring  it  back  to 
me — here.  If  you  should  find  that  Mr. 
Il'.'.redale  is  engaged  jii«;t  now,  tell  him — 
can  b"  rfirifmber  a  mes<;a're,  landlord  ]" 
>■  \\'...n  be  chnoses.  sir."  replied  John. 

•  He   \VM|,'.    t'liriret  tjiii  ripe  " 


"  How  are  you  sure  of  that  1" 

John  merely  pointed  to  him  as  he  stood 
with  his  head  bent  forward,  and  his  earnest 
gaze  fixed  closely  on  his  questioner's  face , 
and  nodded  sagely. 

"Tell  him  then,  Barnaby,  should  he  he 
engaged,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "that  I  shall 
be  glad  to  wait  his  convenience  here,  and 
to  see  him  (if  he  will  call)  at  any  time  this 
evening. — At  the  worst  I  can  have  a  bed 
here,  Willet,  I  suppose  1" 

Old  John,  immensely  flattered  by  the 
personal  notoriety  implied  in  this  familiar 
form  of  address,  answered,  with  sometliing 
like  a  knowing  look, "  I  should  believe  you 
could,  sir,"  and  was  turning  over  in  iiis 
mind  various  forms  of  eulogium,  with  the 
view  of  selecting  «ne  appropriate  to  the 
qualities  of  his  best  bed,  when  his  ideas 
were  put  to  flight  by  Mr.  CheSv'er  giving 
Barnaby  the  letter,  and  bidding  him  make 
all  speed  away. 

"Speed  !"  said  Barnaby,  folding  the  lit- 
tle packet  in  his  breast,  "  Speed  !  If  you 
want  to  see  hurry  and  mystery,  come  here. 
Here!" 

With  that,  he  put  his  hand,  very  much 
to  John  VVillet's  horror,  on  the  guest's  fine 
broadcloth  sleeve,  and  led  him  stealthily 
to  the  back  window. 

"  Look  down  there,"  he  said  softly  ;  "  do 
you  mark  how  they  whisper  in  each  other's 
ears  ;  then  dance  and  leap,  to  make  believe 
they  are  in  sport  1  Do  you  see  how  they 
stop  for  a  moment,  when  they  think  there 
is  no  one  looking,  and  mutter  among  them- 
selves again  ;  and  then  how  they  roll  and 
gambol,  delighted  with  the  mischief  they've 
been  plotting"?  Look  at  'em  now.  See 
how  they  whirl  and  plunge.  And  now 
they  stop  aoain,  and  whisper,  cautiously 
together — little  thinking,  mind,  how  often 
I  have  lain  upon  the  grass  and  watched 
them.  I  say — what  is  it  that  they  plot  and 
hatch  ]     Do  you  know  1" 

"  They  are  only  clothes,"  returned  the 
guest,  "such  as  we  wear;  hanging  on 
those  lines  to  dry,  and  fluttering  in  the 
wind." 

"Clothes!"  echoed  Barnaby,  looking 
close  into  his  face,  and  falling  quickly 
back.  "Ha!  ha!  Why,  how  much  bet- 
ter to  be  silly,  than  as  wise  as  you  !  You 
don't  see  shadowy  people  there,  like  those 
that  live  in  sleep — not  you.  Nor  eyes  in 
the  knotted  panes  of  glass,  nor  swift  ghosts 
when  it  blows  hard,  nor  do  you  bear  voices 
in  the  air,  nor  see  men  stalking  in  the  sky, 
not  you  !  I  lead  a  merrier  life  than  you, 
with  all  your  cleverness.  You  're  the 
dull  men.  We're  the  bright  ones.  Ha! 
ha  !  I  '11  not  change  with  you,  clever  aa 
yo>i  are — not  I  !" 

With  that,  he  waved  his  hat  above  hia 
hea.!.  ind  darted  off. 


B  A  R  N  A  n  Y     R  U  D  G  E . 


63 


"  A  stranjre  creature,  upon  my  word  !" 
said  the  gurst,  pullinor  out  a  handsome 
box,  and  taking  a  pinch  of  snulF. 

*'  He  wants  imagination,"  said  Mr.  Wil- 
let,  vory  slowly,  and  after  a  long  silence ; 
*•  tliat's  what  he  wants.  I've  tried  to  in- 
stil it  into  hiin,  many  and  many 's  the 
time;  but" — John  added  tiiis,  in  confidence 
— •'  he  an't  made  for  it;  that's  the  fact." 

To  record  that  ISIr.  Chester  smiled  at 
John's  remark  would  be  little  to  the  pur- 
pose, for  he  preserved  the  same  conciliatory 
and  pleasant  look  at  all  times.  He  drew 
his  chair  nearer  to  the  fire  though,  as  a  kind 
of  hint  that  he  would  prefer  to  be  alone, 
and  John,  having  no  reasonable  excuse  for 
remaining,  left  him  to  himself. 

Very  thoughtful  old  John  Willet  was, 
while  the  dinner  was  preparing;  and  if  his 
Drain  were  ever  less  clear  at  one  time  than 
another,  it  is  but  reasonable  to  suppose  that 
he  addled  it  in  no  slight  degree  by  shaking 
his  head  so  much  that  day.  That  Mr. 
Chester,  between  whom  and  Mr.  Haredale, 
it  was  notorious  to  all  the  neighbourhood, 
a  deep  and  bitter  animosity  existed,  should 
come  down  there  for  tiie  sole  purpose,  as  it 
seemed,  of  seeing  him,  and  should  choose 
the  Maypole  for  their  place  of  meeting, 
and  should  send  to  him  express,  were 
stumbling-blocks  John  could  not  overcome. 
The  only  resource  he  had,  was  to  consult 
tlie  boiler,  and  wait  impatiently  for  Barna- 
by's  return. 

But  Barnaby  delayed  beyond  all  prece- 
dent. The  visiter's  dinner  was  served,  re- 
moved, his  wine  was  set,  the  fire  replen- 
ished, the  hearth  clean  swept;  the  light 
waned  without,  it  grew  dusk,  became  quite 
dark,  and  still  no  Harnaby  appeared.  Yet, 
though  John  Willet  was  full  of  wonder 
and  misgiving,  his  guest  sat  cross-legged 
IP  the  easy  chair,  to  all  appearance  as  little 
ruffled  in  his  thoughts  as  in  his  dress — the 
same  calm,  easy,  cool  gentleman,  without 
a  care  or  thought  beyond  his  golden  tooth- 
pick. 

"Barnaby's  late,"  John  ventured  to  ob- 
serve, as  he  placed  a  pair  of  tarnished  can- 
dlesticks, some  three  feet  high,  upon  the 
table   and  snuffed  the  lights  they  held. 

"He  is  rather  so,"  replied  the  guest. 
Kipping  his  wine.  "  He  will  not  be  much 
longer,  I  dare  say." 

John  cougiied  and  raked  the  fire  together. 

"As  your  roads  bear  no  very  good  char- 
acter, if  1  may  judge  from  my  son's  mis- 
hap, though,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  and  as  I 
have  no  fancy  to  be  knocked  on  the  head 
— which  is  not  only  disconcerting  at  the 
moment,  but  places  one,  besides,  in  a  ri- 
di(.ulo'JS  position  with  respect  to  the  people 
who  chance  to  pick  one  up — I  shall  stop 
here  to-night.     I  think  you  said  you  had  a 


1»sd  to  s 


pare  r 


"  Such  a  bed,  sir,"  returned  John  Wi'- 
let ;  "  ay,  such  a  bed  as  few,  even  of  the 
gentry's  houses,  own.  A  fixter  here,  sir. 
I've  heard  say  that  bedstead  is  nigh  two 
hundred  years  of  age.  Your  nolile  son — 
a  tine  young  gentleman — slept  in  il  last, 
sir,  half  a  year  ago." 

"  Upon  my  life,  a  recommendation !" 
said  the  guest,  shrugging  his  shoulders 
and  wheeling  his  chair  nearer  to  the  hre. 
"  See  that  it  be  well  aired,  Mr.  Willet,  and 
let  a  blazing  fire  be  lighted  there  at  once. 
This  house  is  something  damp  and  chilly." 

John  raked  the  faggots  up  again,  more 
from  habit  than  presence  of  mind,  or  any 
reference  to  this  remark,  and  was  about  to 
withdraw,  when  a  bounding  step  was  heard 
upon  the  stair,and  Barnaby  came  panting  in. 

"  He  '11  have  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  in  an 
hour's  time,"  he  cried,  advancing.  "He 
has  been  riding  hard  all  day — has  just  come 
home — but  will  be  in  the  saddle  again  as 
soon  as  he  has  eat  and  drank,  to  meet  his 
loving  friend." 

"  Was  that  his  message  1"  asked  the 
visiter,  looking  up,  but  without  the  small- 
est discomposure — or  at  least  without  the 
smallest  show  of  any. 

"  All  but  the  last  words,"  Barnaby  re- 
joined. "  He  meant  those.  I  saw  that, 
in  his  face." 

"  This  for  your  pains,"  said  the  other, 
putting  money  in  his  hand,  and  glancing 
at  him  steadfastly.  "  This  for  your  pains, 
sharp  Barnaby." 

"  For  Grip,  and  me,  and  Hugh,  to  share 
among  us,"  he  rejoined,  putting  it  up,  and 
nodding,  as  he  counted  it  on  his  fingers, 
"  Grip  one,  me  two,  Hugh  three;  the  dog, 
the  goat,  the  cats — well,  we  shall  spend  it 
pretty  soon,  I  warn  you.  Stay. — Look. 
Do  you  wise  men  see  nothing  there, 
now  !" 

He  bent  eagerly  down  on  one  knee,  and 
gazed  intently  at  the  smoke,  which  was 
rolling  up  the  chimney  in  a  thick  black 
cloud.  John  Willet,  who  appeared  to  con- 
sider himself  particularly  and  chiefiy  re- 
ferred to,  under  the  term  wise  men,  looked 
that  way  likewise,  and  with  great  solidity 
of  feature. 

"  Now,  where  do  the)'  go  to,  when  they 
spring  so  fast  up  there,"  asked  Barnaby; 
"eh?  Why  do  they  tread  so  closely  on 
each  other's  heels,  and  why  are  they  ai- 
ways  in  a  hurry — which  is  whatyo^  blame 
me  for,  when  I  only  take  pattern  by  these 
busy  folk  about  me.  More  of 'em!  catch- 
ing to  each  other's  skirts;  and  as  fast  as 
they  go,  others  come !  What  a  merry 
dance  it  is !  I  would  that  Grip  and  1  could 
frisk  like  that!" 

"  What  has  he  in  that  basket  at  his 
back]"  asked  the  guest  after  a  few  mc 
luent:,,  during   whii-n    Barnaby   was   stil- 


54 


BARiNAli^^    RUDGE. 


bending  down  to  look  hifrher  up  the  chim- 
ney, and  earnestly  watchinjr  tlie  smoke. 

"In  this"!"  he  answered,  jumping  up, 
before  John  Willet  could  reply — shaking  it 
as  he  spoke,  and  stooping  iiis  head  to  lis- 
ten. "  In  this  1  What  is  there  here  ? 
Tell  him!" 

"  A  devil,  a  devil,  a  devil,"  cried  a 
hoarse  voice. 

"  Here 's  money  !"  said  Barnaby,  chink- 
ing it  in  his  hand,  "money  for  a  treat. 
Grip  !" 


"  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !"  replied 
the  raven,  "  keep  up  your  spirits.  Nevei 
say  die.     Bow,  wow,  wow  I" 

Mr.  Willet,  who  appeared  to  entertain 
strong  doubts  whether  a  customer  in  a  laced 
coat  and  fine  linen  could  be  supposed  to 
have  any  acquaintance  even  with  the  exis- 
tence of  such  unpolite  gentry  as  the  bird 
claimed  to  belong  to,  took  Barna*^y  off  at 
this  juncture,  with  the  view  of  preventing 
any  other  improper  declarations,  and  quil- 
ted the  room  with  his  very  best  bow. 


CHAPTER  THE   ELEVENTH. 


There  was  great  news  that  night,  for 
the  regular  Maypole  customers,  to  each  of 
whom,  as  he  straggled  in  to  occupy  his  al- 
lotted seat  in  the  chimney  corner,  John, 
v/ith  a  most  impressive  slowness  of  de- 
livery, and  in  an  apoplectic  whisper,  com- 
municated the  fact  that  Mr.  Chester  was 
alone  in  the  large  room  up-stairs,  and  was 
waiting  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Geoffrey  Hare- 
dale,  to  whom  he  had  sent  a  letter  (doubt- 
less of  a  threatening  nature)  by  the  hands 
of  Barnaby,  then  and  there  present. 

For  a  little  knot  of  smokers  and  solemn 
gossips,  who  had  seldom  any  new  topics 
of  discussion,  this  was  a  perfect  Godsend. 
Here  was  a  good,  dark-looking,  mystery 
progressing  under  that  very  roof — brought 
home  to  the  fireside  as  it  were,  and  enjoy- 
able without  the  smallest  pains  or  trouble. 
It  is  extraordinary  what  a  zest  and  relish 
it  gave  to  the  drink,  and  how  it  heightened 
the  flavour  of  the  tobacco.  Every  man 
smoked  his  pipe  with  a  face  of  grave  and 
serious  delight,  and  looked  at  his  neigh- 
bour with  a  sort  of  quiet  congr  itulation. 
Nay,  it  was  felt  to  be  such  a  holiday  and 
special  night,  that,  on  the  motion  of  little 
Solomon  Daisy,  every  man  (including  John 
himself)  put  down  his  sixpence  for  a  can 
of  flip,  which  grateful  beverage  was  brew- 
ed with  all  despatch,  and  set  down  in  the 
midst  of  them  on  the  brick  floor;  both  that 
it  might  simmer  and  stew  before  the  fire, 
and  that  its  fragrant  steam,  rising  up  among 
them  and  mixing  with  tlie  wreaths  of  va- 
pour from  their  pipes,  might  shroud  them 
in  a  delicious  atmosphere  of  their  own,  and 
shut  out  all  the  world.  The  very  furniture 
of  tfie  room  seemed  to  mellow  and  deepen 
in  its  tone;  the  ceiling  and  walls  looked 
blacker  and  more  highly  polished,  the  cur- 
tams  of  a  ruddier  red  ;  the  fire  burnt  clear 
and  high,  and  the  crickets  in  the  hearth- 
stone ciiirped  with  a  more  than  wonted 
satisfaction. 

There  were  present,  two,  however,  who 
nhowf  i  but  little  interest  in  the  general 
contentment.  Of  thi^se,  one  was  fiarnaby 
himself,  who  slept,  or,  to  avoid  being  be- 


set with  questions,  feigned  to  sleep  in  the 
chimney-corner;  the  other,  Hugh,  who, 
sleeping  too,  lay  stretched  upon  the  bench 
on  the  opposite  side,  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
blazing  fire. 

The  light  that  fell  upon  this  slumbering 
form,  showed  it  in  all  its  muscular  and 
handsome  proportions.  It  was  that  of  a 
younof  man,  of  a  hale  athletic  figure,  and  a 
giant's  strength,  whose  sunburnt  face  and 
swarthy  throat,  overgrown  with  jet  black 
hair,  might  have  served  a  painter  for  a 
model.  Loosely  attired,  in  the  coarsest 
and  roughest  garb,  with  scraps  of  straw 
and  hay — his  usual  bed — clinging  here  and 
there,  and  mingling  with  his  uncombed 
locks,  he  had  fallen  asleep  in  a  posture  as 
careless  as  his  dress.  The  negligence  and 
disorder  of  the  whole  man,  witli  somethinq 
fierce  and  sullen  in  his  features,  give  him 
a  picturesque  appearance,  that  attracted  the 
regards  even  of  the  Maypole  customers 
who  knew  him  well,  and  caused  Long 
Parkes  to  say  that  Hugh  looked  more  like 
a  poaching  rascal  to-night  than  ever  he  had 
seen  him  yet. 

"  He  's  waiting  here,  I  suppose,"  said 
Solomon,  "  to  take  Mr.  Haredale's  horse." 

"That's  it,  sir,"  replied  John  Willet. 
"  He 's  not  often  in  the  house,  you  know. 
He 's  more  at  his  ease  among  horses  than 
men.  I  look  upon  him  as  a  animal  him- 
self." 

Following  up  this  opinion  with  a  shrug 
that  seemed  meant  to  say,  "  we  can 't  ex- 
pect everybody  to  be  like  us,"  John  put 
his  pipe  into  his  mouth  again,  and  smoked 
like  one  who  felt  his  superiority  over  the 
general  run  of  mankind, 

"That  chap,  sir,"  said  John,  taking  it 
out  again  after  a  time,  and  pointing  at  him 
with  the  stem,  "though  he's  got  all  hui 
faculties  about  him — bottled  up  and  corkex] 
down,  if  I  may  say  so,  somewheres  oi 
another — " 

"  Very  good  !"  said  Parkes,  nodding  his 
head.  "A  very  ffood  expression,  Johnny 
You  '11  be  a  tackling  somebody  pr^tentlv 
You  're  in  twig,  to-night,  I  see  '' 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


5J 


•'  TaKe  care,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  not  at 
I'l  jfrateful  for  the  compliment,  "  that  I 
don  t  tackle  you,  sir,  which  I  shall  cer- 
tainiy  endeavour  to  do,  if  you  interrupt  me 
when  I'm  makinqf  observations. — The 
chap,  I  was  a  saying-,  thougrh  he  has  all 
his  faculties  about  him,  somewheres  or 
another,  bottled  up  and  corked  down,  has 
no  more  imasjination  than  Barnaby  has. 
And  why  hasn't  he  V 

The  three  friends  shook  their  heads  at 
each  other  ;  saying  by  that  action,  without 
the  trouble  of  opening  their  lips,  "  do  you 
observe  what  a  philosophical  mind  our 
friend  hasl" 

"Why  hasn't  hel"  said  John,  gently 
striking  the  table  with  his  open  hand. 
"  Because  they  was  never  drawed  out  of 
him  when  he  was  a  boy.  That's  why. 
What  would  any  of  us  have  been,  if  our 
fathers  hadn't  drawed  our  faculties  out  of 
usi  What  would  my  boy  Joe  have  been, 
if  I  hadn't  drawed  his  faculties  out  of  him  1 
—Do  you  mind  what  I  'm  a  saying  of,  gen- 
tlemen ■?" 


"  Ah !  we  mind  you,"  cried  Parkeg. 
"  Go  on  improving  of  us,  Johnny." 

"  Consequently,  then,"  said  Mr.  Willet, 
"  that  chap,  whose  mother  was  hung  v/hen 
he  was  a  little  boy,  along  with  six  others, 
for  passing  bad  one-pound  notes — and  it's 
a  blessed  thing  to  think  how  many  people 
are  hung  in  batches  every  six  weeks  for 
that,  and  such  like  offences,  as  showing 
how  wide  awake  our  government  is—  tliat 
chap  that  was  then  turned  loose,  and  had 
to  mind  cows,  and  frighten  birds  away, 
and  what  not,  for  a  few  pence  to  live  on, 
and  so  got  on  by  degrees  to  mind  horses, 
and  to  sleep  in  course  of  time  in  lofts  and 
litter,  instead  of  under  haystacks  and  hv4- 
ges,  till  at  last  he  come  to  be  hostler  at 
the  Maypole  for  his  board  and  lodging  and 
a  annual  trifle— that  chap  that  can't  read 
nor  write,  and  has  never  had  much  to  dc 
with  anything  but  animals,  and  has  never 
lived  in  any  way  but  like  the  animals  he 
has  lived  anion?,  is  a  animal.  And,"  said 
Mr.  Willet,  arriving  at  his  logical  com'lo 
sion,  "  is  to  be  treated  accordingly." 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


'•  Willct,"  said  Solomon  Dnisy,  who  had 
exhibited  some  impaticMice  at  the  intrusion 
of  so  unworthy  a  subject  on  their  more 
interesting  theme,  "when  Mr.  Chester 
come  this  morning,  did  lie  order  the  large 
room  ■?" 

"  He  signified,  sir,"  said  John,  "  that  he 
wanted  a  large  apartment.  Yes.  Cer- 
tainly." 

"  Why  then,  I  '11  tell  you  what,"  said 
Solomon,  speaking  softly  and  with  an 
earnest  look.  "  He  and  Mr.  Haredale  are 
going  to  fight  a  duel  in  it." 

Everybody  looked  at  Mr.  Willet,  after 
this  alarming  s\iggestion.  Mr.  Willet 
looked  at  the  fire,  weighing  in  his  own 
mind  the  effect  which  such  an  occurrence 
would  be  likely  to  have,  on  the  establish- 
ment. 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  I  don't  know — I 
am  sure — I  remember  that  when  I  went  up 
last,  he  had  put  the  lights  upon  the  mantel- 
shelf." 

"It's  as  plain,"  returned  Solomon,  "as 
the  nose  on  Parkes's  face" — Mr.  Parkes, 
who  had  a  large  nose,  rubbed  it,  and  looked 
as  if  he  considered  this  a  personal  allusion 
— "  they  '11  fight  in  that  room.  You  know 
by  the  newspa])ers  wliat  a  common  thing 
it  is  for  gentlemen  to  fight  in  coflee-houses 
without  seconds.  One  of  'em  will  be 
wounded  or  perhaps  killed  in  this  house." 

"Tiiat  was  a  challenge  that  Barnaby 
took  then,  eh  !"  said  .lohn. 

" — Inclosing  a  slip  of  paper  with  the 
neasure  of  his  sword  upon  it,  I  '11  bet  a 
guinea,"  answered  the  little  man.  "We 
know  what  sort  of  gentleman  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  is.  You  have  told  us  what  Barnaby 
said  about  his  looks,  when  he  came  back. 
Depend  upon  it,  I'm  right.     Now, mind." 

The  flip  had  had  no  flavour  till  now.  The 
tobacco  had  been  of  mere  English  growth, 
compared  with  its  present  taste.  A  duel 
in  that  great  old  rambling  room  up-stairs, 
and  the  best  bed  ordered  already  for  the 
wounded  man ! 

"  Would  it  be  swords  or  pistols  now  V 
said  John. 

"Heaven  knows.  Perhaps  both,"  re- 
turned Solomon.  "The  gentlemen  wear 
swords,  and  may  easily  have  pistols  in 
their  pockets  —  most  likely  have,  indeed. 
If  they  fire  at  each  other  without  effect, 
then  they  '11  draw  and  go  to  work  in  ear- 
nest." 

A  shade  passed  over  Mr.  Willet's  face 
as  he  thought  of  broken  windows  and  dis- 
abled furniture,  but  bethinking  himself 
that  one  of  the  parties  would  probably  be 
left  alive  to  pay  the  darnages,  he  brighten- 
ed up  again. 

"  And  then,"  said  Solomon,  looking  from 
*ace  to  lace,  "  tht-n  we  shall  have  one  of 
i\ose  stains  upon  the  floor  that  never  come 


out.  If  Mr.  Haredale  wins,  depend  upon 
it,  it  '11  be  a  deep  one ;  or  if  he  loses,  it  will 
perhaps  be  d-eeper  still,  for  he'll  never 
give  in  unless  he's  beaten  down.  Wo 
know  him  better,  eh  1" 

"  Better  indeed !"  they  whispered  all  to« 
gether. 

"As  to  it's  ever  being  got  out  again," 
said  Solomon,  "  I  tell  you  it  nevei  will,  or 
can  be.  Why,  do  you  know  tliat  it  haa 
been  tried,  at  a  certain  house  we  are  ac- 
quainted with  V 

"The  Warren!"  cried  John.   "No,  sure!" 

"  Yes,  sure — yes.  It's  only  known  by 
very  few.  It  has  been  whispered  about 
though,  for  all  that.  Tliey  planed  the  board 
away,  but  there  it  was.  They  went  deep, 
but  it  went  deeper.  They  put  nev/  boards 
down,  but  there  was  one  great  spot  that 
came  through  still,  and  showed  itself  in 
the  old  place.  And — harkyc — draw  near- 
er— Mr.  Geoffrey  made  that  room  his  study, 
and  sits  there,  always,  with  his  foot  (as  1 
have  heard)  upon  it,  and  he  believes 
througrh  thinking  of  it  long  and  very  much- 
that  it  will  never  fade  until  he  finds  th 
man  who  did  the  deed." 

As  this  recital  ended,  and  they  all  drev 
closer  round  the  fire,  the  tramp  of  a  hors« 
was  heard  without. 

"  The  very  man  !"  cried  John,  starting 
up,  "  Hugh  !  Hugh  !" 

The  sleeper  staggered  to  his  feet,  and 
hurried  after  him.  John  quickly  returned 
ushering  in  with  great  attention  and  defe' 
rence  (for  Mr.  Haredale  was  his  landlord) 
the  long-expected  visiter,  who  strode  into 
the  room  clanking  his  heavy  bouts  upon 
the  floor;  and  looking  keenly  round  upon 
the  bowing  group,  raised  his  hat  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  their  profi)und  respect. 

"  You  have  a  stranger  here,  Willet,  who 
sent  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  naturally  stern  and  deep.  "  Where 
is  he"?" 

"  in  the  great  room  up  stairs,  sir,"  an- 
swered John. 

"  Show  the  way.  Your  staircase  is 
dark,  1  know.     Gentlemen,  good  night." 

With  that,  he  signed  to  the  landlord  to 
go  on  before ;  and  went  clanking  out,  and 
up  the  stairs;  old  John,  in  his  agitation, 
ingeniously  lighting  every  thing  but  the 
way,  and  making  a  stumble  at  every  se- 
cond step. 

"  Stop  !"  he  said,  when  they  reached  the 
landing.  "  I  can  announce  myself.  Don't 
wait." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door,  entered, 
and  shut  it  heavily.  Mr.  Willet  was  by 
no  means  disposed  to  stand  there  listening 
by  himself,  especially  as  the  walls  were 
very  thick;  so  he  descended,  with  much 
greater  alacrity  than  he  had  come  up,  and 
joined  his  friends  below. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


57 


CHAPTER  THE  TWELFTH. 


Thkre  was  a  brief  pause  in  the  state- 
V>oin  of  the  Maypole,  as  Mr.  Haredalo 
<;ried  the  lociv  to  satisfy  himself  that  he  had 
shut  the  door  securely,  and,  striding  up  the 
dark  chamber  to  where  the  screen  inclosed 
n  little  patch  of  li^rlit  and  warmth,  present- 
ed himself,  abruptly  and  in  silence,  before 
the  smiiino'  fjuest. 

If  the  two  had  no  jrreater  sympathy  in 
their  inward  thoughts  than  in  their  outward 
bearing  and  appearance,  tiie  meeting  did 
not  secern  likely  to  prove  a  very  calm  or 
pleasant  one.  With  no  great  disparity  be- 
tween them  in  pomt  of  years,  they  were, 
in  every  other  respect,  as  unlike  and  fir 
removed  from  each  other  as  two  men  could 
well  be.  The  one  was  soft-spoken,  deli- 
cately  made,  precise,  and  elegant;  the 
olher,'a  burly  square-built  man,  negligently 
dressed,  rough  and  abrupt  in  manner,  stern, 
and,  in  his  present  mood,  forbidding  both 
in  look  and  speech.  The  one  preserved  a 
cahn  and  placid  smile;  the  other,  a  dis- 
trurlful  frown.  The  new-comer,  indeed, 
appeared  bent  on  siiowing,  by  his  every 
tone  and  gesture,  his  determined  opposition 
and  hostility  to  the  man  he  had  come  to 
meet.  The  guest  who  received  him,  on 
tiie  other  hand,  seemed  to  feel  that  the 
contrast  between  them  was  all  in  his  favour, 
and  to  derive  a  quiet  exultation  from  it 
which  put  him  more  at  his  ease  than  ever. 

"Haredale,"  said  this  gentioman,  without 
the  least  appearance  of  embarrassment  or 
reserve,  "I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Let  us  dispense  with  compliments. 
They  are  misplaced  between  us,"  returned 
the  other,  waving  his  hand,  "  and  say 
plainly  what  we  have  to  say.  You  have 
asked  me  to  meet  you.  I  am  here.  Why 
do  we  stand  face  to  face  again  V 

"  Still  the  same  frank  and  sturdy  charac- 
ter, I  see  I" 

"  Good  or  bad,  sir,  I  am,"  returned  the 
other,  leaning  his  arm  upon  the  chimney- 
piece,  and  turning  a  haughty  look  upon  the 
occupant  of  the  easy-chair,  "  the  man  I 
used  to  be.  I  have  lost  no  old  likings  or 
dislikiiigs;  my  memory  has  not  failed  me 
by  a  hair's-breadth.  You  ask  me  to  give 
you  a  meeting.     I  say,  I  am  here." 

"  Our  meeting,  Haredale,  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, tapping  his  snufl-box,  and  following 
with  a  smile  ih"  impatient  gesture  he  had 
made — perhaps  unconsciously — towards  his 
sword,  "  is  one  of  conference  and  peace,  I 
hope  ]" 

"  I  have  come  here,"  returned  the  other, 
"at  your  desire,  holding  myself  bound  to 


meet  you,  when  and  where  j'ou  would, 
have  not  come  to  bandy  pleasant  speeches, 
or  hollow  professions.  You  are  a  smooth 
man  of  the  world,  sir,  and  at  such  play 
have  me  at  a  disadvantage.  The  very  last 
man  on  tuis  earth  with  whom  I  would  en- 
ter the  lists  to  combat  with  gentle  compli- 
ments and  masked  faces,  is  Mr.  Chester,  I 
do  assure  you.  I  am  not  his  match  at  such 
weapons,  and  have  reason  to  believe  that 
few  men  are." 

"  You  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honour, 
Haredale,"  returned  the  other,  most  com- 
posedly, "  and  I  thank  you.  I  will  be  frank 
with  you — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — will  be  what  1" 

"  Frank — open — perfectly  candid." 

"  Hah  !"  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  drawing  in 
his  breath  with  a  sarcastic  smile.  "  But 
don't  let  me  interrupt  you." 

"So  resolved  am  I  to  hold  this  course," 
returned  tlie  other,  tasting  his  wine  with 
greit  deliberation,  "  that  I  have  determined 
not  to  quarrel  with  you,  and  not  to  be  be- 
trayed into  a  warm  expression  or  a  hasty 
word." 

"  There  again,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "you 
will  have  me  at  a  great  advantage.  Your 
self<;ommand— " 

"  Is  not  t©  be  disturbed,  when  it  will 
serve  my  purpose,  you  would  say  " — rejoin- 
ed the  other,  interrupting  him  with  tlie 
same  complacency.  "  Granted.  I  allow 
it.  And  1  have  a  purpose  to  serve  now. 
So  have  you.  I  am  sure  our  object  is  the 
same.  Let  us  attain  it  like  sensible  men, 
who  have  ceased  to  be  boys  some  time. — 
Do  you  drink!" 

"  With  my  friend-s,"  returned  the  other. 

"At  least,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "you  will 
be  seated  1" 

"I  will  stand,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale, 
impatiently,  "on  this  dismantled,  beggar- 
ed hearth,  and  not  pollute  it,  fallen  as  it  is, 
with  mockeries.     Go  on  !" 

"  You  are  wrong,  Haredale,"  said  the 
other,  crossing  his  legs,  and  smiling  as  he 
held  his  glass  up  in  the  bright  glow  of  the 
fire.  "You  are  really  very  wrong.  The 
world  is  a  lively  place  enough,  in  which 
we  must  accommodate  ourselves  to  circum- 
stances, sail  with  the  stream  as  glibly  as 
we  can,  be  content  to  take  froth  for  sub- 
stance, the  surface  for  tiie  de|)th,  the  coun- 
terfeit for  the  real  coin.  I  wonder  no 
philosopher  has  ever  established  that  our 
globe  itself  is  hollow.  It  should  be,  if 
Nature  is  consistent  in  her  works." 

"  You  think  it  is,  nerhaps  ?" 


58 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  1  should  say,"  he  returned,  sipping  his 
wine,  "  there  could  be  n>.  doubt  about  it. 
Well;  we  in  our  triflinof  with  this  jinsfling 
toy,  iiave  had  the  ill  luck  to  jostle  and  full 
out.  We  are  not  what  the  world  calls 
friends ;  but  we  are  as  pood  and  true  and 
loving  friends  for  all  that,  as  nine  out  of 
every  ten  of  those  on  whom  it  bestows  the 
title.  You  have  a  niece,  and  I  a  son — a 
fine  lad,  Haredale,  but  foolish.  They  fill 
in  love  with  each  other,  and  form  what 
this  same  world  calls  an  attachment ;  mean- 
ing a  something  fanciful  and  false  like  all 
the  rest,  which,  if  it  took  its  own  free  time, 
would  break  like  any  other  bubble.  But  it 
may  not  have  its  own  free  time — will  not, 
if  they  are  left  alone — and  the  question  is, 
shall  we  two,  because  society  calls  us  ene- 
mies, stand  aloof,  and  let  them  rush  into 
each  other's  arms,  when,  by  approaching 
each  other  sensibly,  as  we  do  now,  we  can 
prevent  it,  and  part  them  !" 

"  I  love  my  niece,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
after  a  short  silence.  "  It  may  sound 
strangely  in  your  ears  ;  but  I  love  her." 

"  Strangely,  my  good  fellow  !"  cried  Mr. 
Chester,  lazily  filling  his  glass  again,  and 

Fiullini.'- out  his  toothpick.  "Not  at  all.  I 
ike  Ned  too — or,  as  you  say,  love  him — 
that's  the  word  among  such  near  relations. 
I  'm  very  fond  of  Ned.  He 's  an  amazingly 
good  fellow,  and  a  handsome  fellow — fool- 
ish and  weak  as  yet;  that's  all.  But  the 
thing  is,  Haredale — for  I  'II  be  very  frank, 
as  I  told  you  I  would  at  first — independent- 
ly of  any  dislike  that  you  and  I  might  have 
to  being  related  to  each  other,  and  inde- 
pendently of  the  religious  diflferenccs  be- 
tween us — and  damn  it,  that's  important — 
I  couldn't  afli)rd  a  match  of  this  description. 
Ned  and  I  couldn't  do  it.  It's  impossible." 
"Curb  your  tongue,  in  God's  name,  if 
this  conversation  is  to  last,"  retorted  Mr. 
Haredale,  fiercely.  "  I  have  said  I  love 
my  niece.  Do  you  think  that,  loving  her, 
I  would  have  her  fling  her  heart  away  on 
any  man  who  had  your  blood  in  his  veins  !" 
"  You  see,"  said  the  other,  not  at  all  dis- 
turbed, "the  advantage  of  being  sofrank  and 
open.  Just  what  I  was  about  to  add,  apon 
my  honour!  lam  amazingly  attached  to 
Ned  —  quite  dote  upon  him,  indeed  —  and 
even  if  we  could  afl'brd  to  throw  ourselves 
away,  that  very  objection  would  be  quite 
insuperable.  —  I  wish  you'd  take  some 
wine." 

"  Mark  me,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  striding 
to  tlie  tablo,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  it 
heavily.  "If  any  man  believes — presumes 
lo  think — that  I,  in  word  or  deed,  or  in  the 
wildest  dream,  ever  entertained  remotely 
*he  idea  of  Emma  Haredale 's  favouring 
the  suit  of  one  who  was  akin  to  you — in 


any  way — T  care  not  what — he  lies.  He 
lies,  and  does  me  grievous  wrong,  in  the 
mere  thought." 

"  Haredale,"  returned  the  other,  rocking 
himself  to  and  fro  as  in  assent,  and  nodding 
at  the  fire,  "  it 's  extremely  manly,  and 
really  very  generous  in  you,  to  meet  me  in 
this  unreserved  and  handsome  way.  Upon 
my  word,  those  are  exactly  my  sentiments, 
only  expressed  with  much  more  force  and 
power  than  I  could  use  —  you  know  my 
sluggish  nature,  and  will  forgive  me,  I  ara 
sure." 

"  While  I  would  restrain  her  from  all 
correspondence  with  your  son,  and  sever 
their  intercourse  here,  though  it  should 
cause  her  death,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  who 
had  been  pacing  to  and  fro,  "I  would  do  it 
kindly  and  tenderly  if  I  can.  I  have  a 
trust  to  discharge  wliich  my  nature  is  not 
formed  to  understand,  and,  for  this  reason, 
the  bare  fact  of  there  being  any  love  be- 
tween them  comes  upon  me  to-night,  al- 
most for  the  first  time." 

"  I  am  more  delighted  than  I  can  possi- 
bly tell  you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Cbesti-r,  with 
the  utmost  blandness,  "  to  find  my  own  im- 
pression so  confirmed.  You  see  tlie  ad- 
vantage of  our  having  met.  We  under- 
stand each  other.  We  quite  agree.  We 
have  a  most  complete  and  thorough  ex- 
planation, and  we  know  what  course  to 
take. — Why  don't  you  taste  your  tenant's 
wine"?     It's  really  veiy  good." 

"Pray  who,"  said  Mr.  Har<idale,  "have 
aided  Emma  or  your  son  1  Who  are  their 
go-betweens,  and  agents — do  you  know !" 

"All  the  good  people  hpr(.'aboiits  —  the 
neighbourh(XKl  in  general,  I  thir.k,"  return- 
ed the  otlier,  with  his  most  afiiible  smile. 
"  The  messenger  I  sont  to  you  to-day,  fore- 
most among  them  all." 

"  The  idiot  1     Barnaby  ?" 

"  You  are  surprised  ?  I  am  glad  of  that, 
for  I  was  rather  so  myself.  Yes.  I  wrung 
that  from  his  mother  —  a  very  decent  sort 
of  woman  —  from  whom,  indeed,  I  chiefly 
learnt  how  serious  the  matter  had  become, 
and  so  determined  to  ride  out  here  to-day, 
and  hold  a  parley  with  you  on  this  neutral 
ground. — You  're  stouter  than  you  used  to 
be,  Haredale,  but  you  look  extremely 
well." 

"Our  business,  I  presume,  is  nearly  at 
an  end,"  said  Mr.  H;\redale,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  impatience  he  was  at  no  pains 
to  conceal.  "  Trust  me,  Mr.  ('hester,  my 
niece  shall  change  from  this  time.  I  will 
appeal,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone,  "to  her 
woman's  heart,  her  dignity,  her  pride,  her 
duty." — 

"  1  shall  do  the  same  by  Ned,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  restoring  some  errant  faggots  to 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


59 


their  places  in  the  grate  with  the  toe  of  \ 
his  boot.  "  If  there  is  any  thinfj  real  in 
the  world,  it  is  those  amazinL^ly  fine  feel- 
ings and  those  natural  ob.ljjalions  which 
must  subsist  between  father  and  son.  I 
shall  put  it  to  him  on  every  ground  of 
moral  and  religious  feeling.  1  shall  re- 
present to  him  tliat  we  cannot  possibly  af- 
ford it — that  I  have  always  looked  forward 
to  his  marrying  well,  for  a  genteel  provi- 
sion for  myself  in  the  autumn  of  life  — 
that  there  are  a  great  many  clamorous 
flogs  to  pay,  whose  claims  are  perfectly 
just  and  right,  and  who  must  be  paid  out 
of  his  wife's  fortune.  In  short,  that  the 
?ery  highest  and  most  honourable  feelings 
if  our  nature,  with  every  consideration  of 
filial  duty  and  affection,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  imperatively  demand  that  he 
i'hould  run  away  with  an  heiress." 

"And  break  her  heart  as  speedily  as 
possible  ]"  said  Mr.  Haredalc,  drawing  on 
his  glove. 

"Thf^re  Ned  will  act  exactly  as  he 
pleases,"  returned  the  other,  sipping  his 
wine ;  "  that 's  entirely  his  affair.  I  wouldn't 
for  the  world  interfere  with  my  son.  Hare- 
dale,  beyond  a  certain  point.  The  rela- 
tionship between  father  and  son,  you  know, 
is  positively  quite  a  holy  kind  of  bond.  — 
Won't  you  let  me  persuade  you  to  take  one 
glass  of  winel  Well!  as  you  please,  as 
you  please,"  he  added,  helping  himself 
again. 

"Chester,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a 
short  silence,  during  which  he  had  eyed 
his  smiling  face  from  time  to  time  intently, 
"  you  have  the  head  and  heart  of  an  evil 
spirit  in  all  matters  of  deception." 

"  Your  health !"  said  the  other,  with  a 
nod.     "  But  I  have  interrupted  you — " 

"  If  now,"  pursued  Mr.  Haredale,  "  we 
should  find  it  difficult  to  separate  these 
young  people,  and  break  off  their  inter- 
course— if,  for  instance,  you  find  it  difficult 
on  your  side,  what  course  do  you  intend  to 
taker 

"  Nothing  plainer,  my  good  fellow,  no- 
thing easier,"  returned  the  other,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders,  and  stretching  himself 
more  comfortably  before  the  fire.  "  I  shall 
then  exert  those  powers  on  which  you 
flatter  me  so  highly — though,  upon  my 
word,  I  don't  deserve  your  compliments  to 
their  full  extent — and  resort  to  a  few  little 
trivial  subterfuges  for  rousing  jealousy  and 
resentment.     You  see  ]" 

"  In  short,  justifying  the  means  by  the 
end,  we  are,  as  a  last  resource  for  tearing 
them  asunder,  to  resort  to  treachery  and — 
and  lying,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"Oh  dear  no.  Fie,  fie!"  returned  the 
other,  relishing  a  pinch  of  snuff  extremely. 


"  Not  lying.  Only  a  little  management,  a 
little  diplomacy,  a  little — intriguing,  that  'a 
the  word." 

"  1  wish,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  moving  to 
and  fro,  and  stopping,  and  moving  on  again, 
like  one  wiio  was  ill  at  ease,  "  that  this 
could  have  been  foreseen  or  prevented. 
But  as  it  has  gone  so  far,  and  it  is  neces- 
sary for  us  to  act,  it  is  of  no  use  shrinking 
or  regretting.  Well !  I  shall  second 
your  endeavours  to  the  utmost  of  my 
power.  There  is  one  topic  in  the  whole 
wide  range  of  human  thoughts  on  which 
we  both  agree.  We  shall  act  in  concert, 
but  apart.  There  will  be  no  need,  I  hope 
for  us  to  meet  again." 

"Are  you  going  1"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
rising  with  a  graceful  indolence.  "  Let 
me  light  you  down  the  stairs." 

"  Pray  keep  your  seat,"  returned  the 
other,  dryly,  "  I  know  the  way."  So,  wav- 
ing his  hand  slightly,  and  putting  on  his 
hat  as  he  turned  upon  his  heel,  he  went 
clanking  out  as  he  had  come,  shut  the  door 
behind  him,  and  tramped  down  the  echoing 
stairs. 

"  Pah  !  A  very  coarse  animal,  indeed  !" 
said  Mr.  Chester,  composing  himself  in  the 
easy  chair  again.  "  A  rough  brute.  Quite 
a  human  badger !" 

John  Willet  and  his  friends,  who  had 
been  listening  intently  for  the  clash  of 
swords,  or  firing  of  pistols  in  the  great 
room,  and  had  indeed  settled  the  order  in 
which  they  should  rush  in  when  summon- 
ed— in  which  procession  old  John  had  care- 
fully arranged  that  he  should  bring  up  the 
rear — were  very  much  astonished  to  see 
Mr.  Haredale  come  down  without  a  scratch, 
call  for  his  horse,  and  ride  away  thought- 
fully at  a  footpace.  After  some  considera- 
tion, it  was  decided  that  he  had  left  the 
gentleman  above,  for  dead,  and  had  adopted 
this  stratagem  to  divert  suspicion  or  pur 
suit. 

As  this  conclusion  involved  the  necessity 
of  their  gojng  up  stairs  forthwith,  they 
were  about  to  ascend  in  the  order  they  had 
agreed  upon,  when  a  smart  ringing  at  the 
guest's  bell,  as  if  he  had  pulled  it  vigorous- 
ly, overthrew  all  their  speculations,  and 
involved  them  in  great  uncertainty  and 
doubt.  At  length  Mr^  Willet  agreed  to  go 
up  stairs  himself,  escorted  by  Hugh  and 
Barnaby,  as  the  strongest  and  stoutest  fel- 
lows oil  the  premises,  who  were  to  make 
their  appearance  under  pretence  of  clear- 
ing away  the  glasses. 

Under  this  protection,  the  brave  ana 
broad-faced  John  boldly  entered  the  room, 
half  a  foot  in  advance,  and  received  an  or- 
dpr  for  a  boot-jack  without  trembling.  But 
when  it  was   brought,  and   he  leant  his 


60 


BARNABY    RUDOE. 


sturdy  shoulder  to  the  {rnest,  Mr.  Willet 
was  observed  to  look  very  hard  into  his 
boots  as  he  pulled  them  off,  and,  by  openinfj 
his  eyes  much  wider  than  usual,  to  appear 
To  express  son)e  surprise  and  disappoint- 
ment at  not  findinnr  them  full  of  blood.  He 
look  occasion,  too,  to  examme  the  o-pntle- 
UMU  -as  closely  as  he  could,  expectino;^  to 
discover  sundry  loop-holes  in  his  person, 
pierced  by  his  adversary's  sword.  Find- 
ing none,  however,  and  oljservinjr  in  course 
of  time  that  his  truest  was  as  cool  and  un- 
ruffled, both  in  his  dress  and  temper,  as  he 
had  been  all  day,  old  John  at  last  heaved  a 
deep  sigh,  and  beo-an  to  think  no  duel  had 
been  fought  that  night. 

"And  now,  Willet,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
"if  the  room's  well  aired,  I'll  try  the 
merits  of  that  famous  bed." 

"The  room,  sir,"  returned  John,  taking 
up  a  candle,  and  nudging  Barnaby  and 
Hugh  to  accompany  them,  in  case  the  gen- 
tleman should  unexpectedly  drop  down 
faint  or  dead,  from  some  internal  wound, 
"the  room's  as  warm  as  any  toast  in  a 
tankard.  Barnaby,  take  you  that  other 
candle,  and  goon  before  Hugh!  Follow 
up,  sir,  with  the  easy  chair." 

In  this  order  —  and  still,  in  his  earnest 
inspection,  holding  his  candle  very  close  to 
the  guest ;  now  making  him  feel  extremely 
warm  about  the  legs,  now  threatening  to 
set  his  wig  on  fire,  and  constantly  begging 
his  pardon  with  great  awkwardness  and  em- 
barrassment—  John  led  the  party  to  the 
best  bed-room,  which  was  nearly  as  large 
as  the  chamber  from  which  they  had  come, 


and  held,  drawn  out  near  the  fire  for 
warmth,  a  great  old  spectral  bedstead, 
hung  with  faded  brocade,  and  ornamented, 
at  the  top  of  each  carved  post,  with  a 
plume  of  feathers  that  had  once  been  white, 
but  with  dust  and  age  had  now  grown 
hearsf'like  and  funereal. 

"  Good  night,  my  friends,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  with  a  sweel  smile,  seating  him- 
self, when  he  had  surveyed  the  room  from 
end  to  end,  in  the  easy-chair  which  his  at- 
tendants wheeled  before  the  fire.  "Good 
night !  Barnaby,  my  good  fellow,  you  say 
some  prayers  before  you  go  to  bed,  1 
hope]" 

Barnaby  nodded.  "  He  has  some  non- 
sense that  he  calls  his  prayers,  sir,"  return- 
ed old  John,  officiously.  "  1  'm  afraid 
there  a'nt  much  irooA  in  'em." 

"  And  Hughl"  said  Mr.  Chester,  turning 
to  him. 

"Not  T,"  he  answered.  "I  know  his" 
—  pointing  to  Barnaby  —  "they're  well 
enough.  He  sings  'em  sometimes  in  the 
straw.     I  listen." 

"  He's  quite  a  animal,  sir,"  John  whis- 
pered in  his  ear,  with  dignity.  "You'll 
excuse  him,  I  'm  sure.  If  he  has  any  .soul 
at  all,  sir,  it  must  be  such  a  very  small  one, 
that  it  don't  signify  what  he  does  or  doesn't 
in  that  way.     Gocxl  night,  sir  !" 

The  guest  rejoined  "  God  bless  you !" 
with  a  fervour  that  was  quite  affecting , 
and  John,  beckoning  his  guards  to  go  be- 
fore, bowed  himself  out  of  the  room,  and 
left  him  to  his  rest  in  the  Maypol*»'s  an 
cient  bed. 


BARXABV    RUDGE. 


61 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTEENTH, 


If  Joseph  Willet,  the  dnnoiinced  and 
protcribed  of  'prentices,  had  happ»^ned  to 
be  at  home  when  his  father's  courtly  guest 
presented  himself  before  the  Maypole  door 
— that  is,  if  it  had  not  perversely  chanced 
to  be  one  of  the  half-dozen  days  in  the 
whole  year  on  which  he  was  at  liberty  to 
absent  himself  for  as  many  hours  without 
question  or  reproach — he  would  have  con- 
trived, by  hook  or  crook,  to  dive  to  the  very 
bottom  of  Mr.  Chester's  mystery,  and  to 
come  at  his  purpose  with  as  much  certainty 
as  though  he  had  been  his  confidential  ad- 
viser. In  that  fortunate  case,  the  lovers 
would  have  had  quick  warning-  of  the  ills 
that  threatened  them,  and  the  aid  of  various 
timely  and  wise  suggestions  to  boot;  for 
all  Joe's  readiness  of  thought  and  action, 
and  all  his  sympathies  and  good  wishes, 
were  enlisted  in  favour  of  the  young  people, 
and  were  staunch  in  devotion  to  their  cause. 
Whether  this  disposition  arose  out  of  his 
old  preoossessions  in  favour  of  the  young 


lady,  whose  history  had  surrounded  her  in 
his  mind  almost  from  his  cradle,  with  cir- 
cumstances of  unusual  interest;  or  from 
his  attacliment  towards  the  young  gentle- 
man, into  whose  confidence  he  had,  through 
his  shrewdness  and  alacrity,  and  the  ren- 
dering of  sundry  important  services  as  a 
spy  and  messenger,  almost  imperceptibly 
glided;  whether  they  had  their  origin  in 
either  of  these  sources,  or  in  the  habit  na- 
tural to  youth,  or  in  the  constant  badgering 
and  worrying  of  his  venerable  parent,  or 
in  any  hidden  little  love  affair  of  his  own 
which  gave  him  something  of  a  fellow-feel- 
ing in  thf  matter  ;  it  is  neeilless  to  inquiie 
— especially  as  Joe  was  out  of  the  way,  and 
had  no  opportunity  on  that  particular  occa- 
sion of  testifying  to  his  sentiments  either 
on  one  side  or  the  other. 

It  was  in  fact,  the  twenty-fifth  of  March, 
which,  as  most  people  know  to  their  cost, 
i.s  and  has  been  time  out  of  mind,  one  of 
those  uirpleasant  epochs   termed   quarter- 


03 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


days.  On  this  twenty-fifth  of  March,  it 
was  Jolin  VVillet's  pride  annually  to  settle, 
in  hard  cash,  his  account  with  a  certain 
vintner  and  distiller  in  the  city  of  London  ; 
to  give  into  whose  hands  a  canvas  bag  con- 
taining its  exact  amount,  and  not  a  penny 
more  or  less,  was  the  end  and  object  of  a 
journey  for  Joe,  so  surely  as  the  year  and 
day  came  round. 

This  journey  was  performed  upon  an  old 
grey  mare,  concerning  wliom  John  had  an 
indistinct  sot  of  ideas  hovering  about  him, 
to  the  effect  that  she  could  win  a  plate  or 
cup  if  she  tried.  She  never  had  tried,  and 
probably  never  would  now,  being  some 
fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  short  in 
wind,  long  in  body,  and  rather  the  worse 
for  wear  in  respect  ot  her  mane  and  tail. 
Notwithstanding  these  slight  defects,  Juhn 
perfectly  gloried  in  the  animal ;  and  when 
bhe  was  brought  round  to  the  door  by  Hugh, 
actually  retired  into  the  bar,  and  there,  in 
a  secret  grove  of  lemons,  laughed  with 
pride. 

"  There 's  a  bit  of  horseflesh,  Hugh  !" 
said  John,  when  he  had  recovered  enough 
self-command  to  appear  at  the  door  again. 
"  There 's  a  comely  creator !  There 's  high 
metal !     There  's  bone  !" 

There  was  bone  enough  beyond  all  doubt ; 
and  so  Hugh  seemed  to  think,  as  he  sat 
sideways  in  the  saddle,  lazily  doubled  up, 
with  his  chin  nearly  touching  his  knees; 
and  heedless  of  the  dangling  stirrups  and 
loose  bridle-rein,  sauntered  up  and  down 
on  the  little  green  before  the  door. 

"  Mind  you  take  good  care  of  her,  sir," 
said  John,  appealing  from  this  insensible 
person  to  his  son  and  heir,  who  now  appear- 
ed, hilly  etjuipped  and  ready.  "  Don't  you 
ride  hard." 

"  I  should  be  puzzled  to  do  that,  1  think, 
father,"  Joe  replied,  casting  a  disconsolate 
look  at  the  animal. 

"None  of  your  impudence,  sir,  if  you 
please,"  retorted  old  John.  "  What  would 
you  ride,  sir!  A  wild  ass  or  zebra  would 
be  too  tame  for  you,  wouldn't  he,  eh  sir! 
You'd  like  to  ride  a  roaring  lion,  wouldn't 
you,  eh  sir]  Hold  your  tongue,  sir." 
When  Mr.  Willet,  in  his  difft'rences  with 
his  son,  had  exhausted  all  the  questions 
thai  occurred  to  him,  and  Joe  had  said  no- 
thing at  all  in  an.swer,  he  generally  wound 
up  by  bidding  him  hold  his  tongue. 

"And  what  does  the  boy  mean,"  added 
Mr.  Willet,  after  he  had  stared  at  him  for 
a  little  time,  in  a  species  of  stupefaction, 
"by  cocking  his  hat,  to  such  an  extent! 
Are  you  a  going  to  kill  the  wintner,  sir!" 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  tartly  ;  "  { 'm  not.  Now 
vour  mind's  at  ease,  father." 

"With  a  milintary  air,  too!"  said  Mr. 


Willet,  surveying  him  from   top   to   toe 
"  with   a   swaggering,   fire-eating,   biling 
water  drinking  sort  of  way  with  him  !  And 
what  do  you  mean  by  pulling  up  the  cro- 
cuses and  snowdrops,  eh,  sir  !" 

"It's  only  a  little  nosegay,"  said  Joe, 
reddening.  "There's  no  harm  in  that,  1 
hope  ?" 

"  You  're  a  boy  of  business,  you  are,  sir !" 
said  Mr.  Willet,  disdainfully,  "to  go  sup- 
posing that  wintners  care  tor  noseaays." 

"  I  don't  suppose  anything  of  the  kind," 
returned  Joe.  "  Let  them  keep  their  red 
noses  for  bottles  and  tankards.  These  are 
going  to  Mr.  Varden's  house." 

"  And  do  you  suppose  he  minds  such 
things  as  crocuses  !"  demanded  John. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  to  say  the  truth,  I 
don't  care,"  said  Joe.  "  Come  father,  give 
me  the  money,  and  in  the  name  of  patience 
let  me  go." 

"There  it  is,  sir,"  replied  John;  "and 
take  care  of  it;  and  mind  you  don't  make 
too  much  haste  back,  but  give  the  mare  a 
long  rest. — Do  you  mind  ■?" 

"Ay,  I  mind,"  returned  Joe.  "She'll 
need  it.  Heaven  knows." 

"  And  don't  you  score  up  too  much  at 
the  Black  Lion,"  said  John.  "  Mind  that, 
too." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  let  me  have  some 
money  of  my  own  !"  retorted  Joe,  sorrow- 
fully; "why  don't  you,  father  !  What  do 
you  send  me  into  London  for,  giving  me 
only  the  right  to  call  for  my  dinner  at  the 
Black  Lion,  wliich  you  're  to  pay  for  next 
time  you  go,  as  if  I  was  not  to  be  trusted 
with  a  few  shillings]  Why  do  you  use 
me  like  this?  It's  not  rijjht  of  you.  You 
can't  expect  me  to  be  quiet  under  it." 

"  Let  iiim  have  money  !"  cried  John,  in 
a  drowsy  reverie.  "What  does  he  call 
money — guineas'!  Hasn't  he  got  money  ? 
Over  and  above  the  tolls,  hasn't  he  one  and 
sixpence  ?" 

"  One  and  sixpence !"  repeated  his  son 
contemptuously. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  John,  "  one  and 
sixpence.  When  I  was  your  age,  I  had 
never  seen  so  much  money,  in  a  hfap,  A 
shilling  of  it  is  in  case  of  accidents  —  the 
mare  casting  a  shoe,  or  the  like  of  that. 
The  other  sixpence  is  to  spend  in  the  di- 
versions of  London ;  and  the  diversion  I 
rpcommend  is  going  to  the  top  of  the 
Monument,  and  sitting  there.  Tliere  's  no 
temptation  there,  sir — no  drink — no  young 
women  —  no  bad  characters  of  any  sort  — 
nothing  but  imagination.  That's  the  way 
I  enjoyed  myself  when  I  was  your  age, 
sir." 

To  thi.s,  Joe  made  no  answer,  but  beck- 
oning Hugh,  leaped  into  the  saddle  and 


BAUNABY   RUDGE. 


63 


rode  away;  and  a  very  stalwart  mnnly 
horseman  he  looked,  deserving  a  butter 
charger  than  it  was  his  fortune  to  bestride. 
John  stood  staring-  alter  him,  or  rather  atler 
the  grey  mare,  (tor  he  had  no  eyes  for  her 
rider)  until  man  and  beast  had  been  out  of 
sight  some  twenty  minutes,  when  lie  began 
to  think  they  were  gone,  and  slowly  re- 
entering the  house,  fell  into  a  gentle  doze. 

The  unfortunate  grey  mare,  who  was 
the  agony  of  Joe's  life,  floundered  along 
at  her  own  will  and  pleasure  until  the 
Maypole  was  no  longer  visible,  and  then, 
contracting  her  legs  into  what  in  a  puppet 
would  liave  been  looked  upon  as  a  clumsy 
and  awkward  imitation  of  a  canter,  mend- 
ed her  pace  all  at  once,  and  did  it  of  her 
own  accord.  The  acquaintance  with  fier 
rider's  usual  mode  of  proceeding,  which 
suggested  this  improvement  in  hers,  im- 
pelled her  likewise  to  turn  up  a  bye-way, 
leading — not  to  London,  but  through  lanes 
running  parallel  with  the  road  they  had 
come,  and  passing  within  a  few  hundred 
yards  of  the  Maypole,  which  led  finally  to 
an  inclosure  surrounding  a  large,  old,  red- 
brick mansion  —  the  same  of  which  men- 
tion was  made  as  the  Warren  in  the  first 
chapter  of  this  history.  Coming  to  a  dead 
stop  in  a  little  copse  thereabout,  she  sufi^er- 
ed  her  rider  to  dismount  with  right  good- 
will, and  to  tie  her  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree. 

"Stay  there,  old  girl,"  said  Joe,  "and 
let  us  see  whether  there  's  any  little  com- 
mission for  me  to-day."  So  saying,  he  left 
her  to  browze  upon  such  stunted  grass  and 
weeds  as  happened  to  grow  witliin  the 
length  of  her  tether,  and  passing  through 
a  wicket  gate,  entered  the  grounds  on 
foot. 

The  pathway,  after  a  very  few  minutes' 
walking,  brought  him  close  to  the  house, 
towards  which,  and  especially  towards  one 
particular  window,  he  directed  many  covtTt 
glances.  It  was  a  dreary,  silent  building, 
with  echoing  courtyards,  desolated  turret- 
chambers,  and  whole  suites  of  rooms  shut 
up  and  mouldering  to  ruin. 

The  terrace-garden,  dark  with  the  shade 
of  overhanging  trees,  had  an  air  of  melan- 
choly that  was  quite  oppressive.  Great 
iron  gates,  disused  for  many  years,  and  red 
with  rust,  drooping  on  their  hinges  and 
overgrown  with  long  rank  grass,  seemed 
as  though  they  tried  to  sink  into  the  ground, 
and  hide  their  fallen  state  among  the  friend- 
ly weeds.  The  fantastic  monsters  on  the 
walls,  green  with  agt*  and  damp,  and  cover- 
ed here  and  there  with  moss,  looked  grim 
and  desolate.  There  was  a  sombre  aspect 
even  on  that  part  of  the  mansion  which 
was  inhabited  and  kept  in  good  repair,  that 
struck  the  beholder  with  a  sense  of  sad- 


ness; of  something  forlorn  and  failing, 
whence  cheerfulness  was  banished.  It 
would  have  been  ditTicult  to  imagine  a 
bright  fire  blazing  in  the  dull  and  darken 
ed  rooms,  or  to  picture  any  gaiety  of  heart 
or  revelry  that  the  frowning  walls  shut  in. 
It  seemed  a  place  where  such  things  had 
been,  but  could  bo  no  more  —  the  very 
ghost  of  a  house,  haunting  the  old  spot  in 
its  old  outward  form,  and  that  was  all. 

Much  of  this  decayed  and  sombre  look 
was  attributable,  no  doubt,  to  the  death  of 
its  former  master,  and  the  temper  of  its 
present  occupant;  but  remembering  the 
tale  connected  with  the  mansion,  it  seem- 
ed the  very  place  for  such  a  deed,  and  one 
that  might  have  been  its  predestined  thea- 
tre years  upon  years  ago.  Viewed  with 
reference  to  this  legend,  the  sheet  of  wa- 
ter where  the  steward's  body  had  been 
found  appeared  to  wear  a  black  and  sullen 
character,  such  as  no  other  pool  might 
own ;  the  bell  upon  the  roof  that  had  told 
the  tale  of  murder  to  the  midnight  wind, 
became  a  very  phantom  whose  voice  would 
raise  the  listener's  hair  on  end;  and  every 
leafless  bough  that  nodded  to  another,  had 
its  stealthy  whispering  of  the  crime. 

Joe  paced  up  and  down  the  path,  some- 
times stopping  in  afiected  contemplatiofa 
of  the  building  or  the  prospect,  sometimes 
leaning  against  a  tree  with  an  assumed  air 
of  idleness  and  indifference,  but  always 
keeping  an  eye  upon  the  window  he  had 
singled  out  at  first.  After  some  quarter 
of  an  hour's  delay,  a  small  white  hand  was 
waved  to  him  for  an  instant  from  this  case- 
ment, and  the  young  man,  with  a  respect- 
ful bow,  departed ;  saying  under  his  breath 
as  he  crossed  his  horse  again,  "No  errand 
for  me  to-day  !" 

But  the  air  of  smartness,  the  cock  of  the 
hat  to  which  John  VVillet  had  objected,  and 
the  spring  nosegay,  all  betokened  some 
little  errand  of  his  own,  having  a  more  in- 
teresting object  than  a  vintner  or  even  a 
locksmith.  So,  indeed,  it  turned  out ;  for 
when  he  had  settled  with  the  vintner  — 
whose  place  of  business  was  down  in  some 
deep  cellars  hard  by  Thames-street,  and 
who  was  as  purple-faced  an  old  gentleman 
as  if  he  had  all  his  life  supported  their 
arched  roof  on  his  head — when  he  had  set- 
tled the  account,  and  taken  the  receipt, 
and  declined  tasting  more  than  three  glasses 
of  old  sherry,  to  the  unbounded  astonisli- 
mentof  the  purple-faced  vintner,  who,  gim- 
let in  hand,  had  projected  an  attack  upon 
at  least  a  score  of  dusty  casks,  and  whc 
stood  transfixed,  or  morally  gimleted  as  it 
were,  to  his  own  wall — when  he  had  don«j 
all  this,  and  disposed  besides  of  a  frugal 
dinner  at  the  Black  Lion  in  Whitechapel; 


64 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


spurninnf  the  Monument  and  John's  advice, 
he  turned  his  steps  towards  the  locitsmith's 
house,  attracted  by  the  eyes  of  blooming 
Dolly  Varden. 

Joo  was  by  no  means  a  sheepish  fellow, 
but,  for  all  that,  when  he  got  to  the  corner 
of  the  street  in  which  the  locksmith  lived, 
ne  could  by  no  moans  make  up  iiis  mind  to 
walk  straight  to  the  house.  First,  he  re- 
solved to  stroll  up  another  street  foi  five 
minutes,  then  up  another  street  for  five 
minutes  more,  and  so  on  until  he  had  lost 
full  half  an  hour,  when  he  made  a  bold 
plunge  and  found  himself  with  a  red  face 
and  a  beating  heart  in  the  smoky  work- 
shop. 

"Joe  Willet,  or  his  ghost !"  said  Varden, 
rising  from  the  desk  at  which  he  was  busy 
with  his  books,  and  looking  at  him  under 
his  spectacles.  '>  Which  is  it  !  Joe  in  the 
flesh,  eh  ]  That's  hearty.  And  how  are 
all  the  Chigwell  company,  Joe"!" 

"  Much  as  usual,  sir — they  and  I  agree 
as  well  as  ever." 

"  Vv'ell,  well  !"  said  the  locksmith.  "We 
must  be  patient,  Joe,  and  boar  with  old 
folks'  foibles.  How  's  the  mare,  Joe  1  Does 
she  do  the  four  miles  an  hour  as  easily  as 
ever  ]  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Does  she,  Joe  1  F.h  1 
— What  have  we  there,  Joe — a  nosegay  I" 

"  A  very  poor  one,  sir — I  thought  Miss 
Dolly-"  ^ 

"  No,  no,"  said  Gabriel,  dropping  his 
voice  and  shaking  his  head,  "not  Dolly. 
Give  'em  to  her  mother,  Joe.  A  great 
deal  better  give  'em  to  her  mother.  Would 
you  mind  givinjr'em  to  Mrs.  Varden,  Joe  ?" 

"Oh  no,  sir,"  Joe  replied,  and  endeavour- 
ing, but  not  with  the  greatest  possible  suc- 
cess, to  hide  his  disappointment.  "I  shall 
be  very  glad,  I  'm  sure." 

"That's  right,"  said  the  locksmith,  pat- 
ting him  on  the  back.  "It  don't  matter  who 
has  'em,  Joel" 

"  Not  a  bit,  sir," — Dear  heart,  how  the 
words  stuck  in  his  throat ! 

"  Come  in,"  said  Gabriel.  "  I  have  just 
been  called  to  tea.     She  's  in  the  parlour." 

"She,"  thought  Joe.  "Which  of 'em, 
I  wonder — Mrs.  or  Miss?"  The  locksmith 
settled  the  doubt  as  neatly  as  if  it  hud  boon 
expressed  aloud,  by  leading  him  to  the  door, 
and  saving,  "  Martha,  my  dear,  here's  young 
Mr.  Willet." 

Now,  Mrs.  Varden,  regarding  the  May- 
pole as  a  sort  of  humane  man-trap,  or  de- 
coy for  husbands;  viewing  its  proprietor, 
and  all  who  aided  and  abetted  him,  in  the 
light  of  so  many  poachers  among  Christian 
men ;  and  believing,  moreover,  tiiat  the 
publicans  coupled  with  sinners  in  Holy 
Writ  were  veritable  licensed  victuallers ; 
wa^  far  from  being  favourably  disposed  to- 


wards her  visiter.  Wherefore,  she  was 
taken  faint  directly;  and  being  duly  pre- 
sented with  the  crocuses  and  snowdrops, 
divined  on  further  consideration  that  they 
were  the  occasion  of  the  languor  which 
had  seized  upon  her  spirits.  "I'm  afraid 
I  couldn't  bear  the  room  another  minute," 
said  the  good  lady,  "  if  they  remained 
here.  Wovld  you  excuse  my  putting  thern 
out  of  the  window  V 

Joe  begged  she  wouldn't  mention  it  on 
any  account,  and  smiled  feebly  as  he  saw 
them  deposited  on  the  sill  outside.  If  any- 
body could  have  known  the  pains  he  had 
taken  to  make  up  that  despised  and  mis- 
used bunch  of  flowers  ! — 

"I  feel  it  quite  a  relief  to  get  rid  of 
them,  I  assure  you,"  said  Mrs.  Varden. 
"I'm  better  already."  And  indeed  she 
did  appear  to  have  plucked  up  her  spirits. 

Joe  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Provi- 
dence for  this  favourable  dispensation,  and 
tried  to  look  as  if  he  didn't  wonder  where 
Dolly  was. 

"  You  're  sad  people  at  Chigwell,  Mr. 
Joseph,"  said  Mrs.  V. 

"  I  hope  not,  ma'am,"  returned  Joe. 

"  You  're  the  cruellest  and  most  incon- 
siderate people  in  the  world,"  said  Mrs. 
Vardon,  bridling.  "I  wonderold  Mr.  V>il- 
let,  having  been  a  married  man  himself 
doesn't  know  better  than  to  conduct  him- 
self as  he  does.  His  domg  it  for  profit  is 
no  excuse.  I  would  rather  pay  the  money 
twenty  times  over,  and  have  Varden  come 
home  like  a  respectable  and  sober  trades- 
man. If  there  is  one  character,"  said  Mrs, 
Varden,  with  great  emphasis,  "  that  offends 
and  disgusts  me  more  than  another,  it  is  a 
sot." 

"  Come,  Martha,  my  dear,"  said  the  lock- 
smith, cheerily,  "  let  us  have  tea,  and  don't 
let  us  talk  about  sots.  There  are  none 
here,  and  Joe  don't  want  to  hear  about  them, 
I  dare  say." 

At  this  crisis,  Miggs  appeared  with  toast. 

"  I  dare  say  he  does  not,"  said  Mrs.  Var- 
den ;  "  and  I  dare  say  you  do  not,  Varden. 
It's  a  very  unpleasant  subject  I  have  no 
doubt,  though  I  won't  say  it's  personal" — 
M  iggs  coughed — "  whatever  I  may  be  forced 
to  think."  —  Micros  sneezed  expressively. 
"You  never  will  know,  Varden,  and  no- 
body at  young  Mr.  Willet's  age  —  you'll 
excuse  me,  sir — can  be  expected  to  know, 
what  a  woman  suffers  when  she  is  waiting 
at  home  under  such  circumstances.  If  you 
don't  believe  me,  as  I  know  you  don't, 
here  's  Miggs,  who  is  only  too  often  a  wit- 
ness of  it — ask  her." 

"  Oh  !  she  were  very  bad  the  other  night, 
sir,  indeed  she  were,'"  said  Miggs.  "If 
you  hadn't  the  sweetness  of  an  angel  in 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


65 


fou,  mim,  1  don't  ^  ink  you  could  abear  it, 
raly  don't." 

"  Migrgps,--  «id  Mrs.  Varden,  "you're 
profane." 

"  B'"^(TiniT  your  pardon,  mim,"  returned 
Migjrs,  with  shrill  rapidity,  "such  was  not 
xr  J  intentions,  and  such  I  hope  is  not  my 
laracter,  thouirh  I  am  but  a  servant." 

"Answerinir  me,  Migffs,  and  providing 
fourself,"  retorted  her  mistress,  lookinof 
ound  with  dignity,  "is  one  and  the  same 
ihing.  How  dare  you  speak  of  angels  in 
connection  with  your  sinful  fellow-beings — 
mere  " — said  Mrs.  Varden,  glanciuir  at  her- 
self in  a  neighbourinu  niirror,  and  arrang- 
ing the  ribbon  of  her  cap  in  a  more  becom- 
ing fashion — "  mere  worms  and  grovellers 
as  we  are  I" 

"I  did  not  intend,  mim,  if  you  plense,  to 
give  offence,"  said  Miggs,  confident  in  the 
strength  of  her  compliment,  and  developing 
strongly  in  the  throat  as  usual,  "and  I  did 
not  expect  it  would  be  took  as  such,  I 
hope  1  know  my  own  unvvorthiness,  and 
that  I  hate  and  despise  myself  and  all  my 
fellow-creatures,  as  every  practicable  Chris- 
tian should." 

"  You  '11  have  the  goodness,  if  you 
p.ease,"  said  Mrs.  Varden  loftily,  "to  step 
up  stairs  and  see  if  Dolly  has  finished 
dressing,  and  to  tell  her  that  the  chair  that 
was  ordered  for  her  will  be  here  in  a 
nfinute,  and  that  if  she  keeps  it  waiting,  I 
shall  send  it  away  that  instant. — I  'm  sorry 
to  see  that  you  don't  take  your  tea,  Varden, 
and  that  you  don't  take  yours,  Mr.  Joseph ; 
though  of  course  it  would  be  foolish  of  me 
to  expect  that  anything  that  can  be  had  at 
home,  and  in  the  company  of  females, 
would  please  you." 

This  pronoun  was  understood  in  the  plu- 
mi  sense,  and  included  both  gentlemen, 
upon  both  of  whom  it  was  rather  hard  and 
undeserved,  tor  Gabriel  had  applied  him- 
self to  the  meal  with  a  very  promising 
appetite,  until  it  was  spoilt  by  xMrs.  Varden 
herself,  and  Joe  had  as  great  a  liking  for 
the  female  society  of  the  locksmith's  house 
— or  for  a  part  of  it  at  all  events — as  man 
could  well  entertain. 

But  he  had  no  opportunity  to  say  any- 
thing in  his  own  defence,  for  at  that  mo- 
ment Dolly  herself  appeared,  and  struck 
him  quite  dumb  with  her  beauty.  Never 
had  Dolly  looked  so  handsome  as  she  did 
then,  in  all  the  glow  and  grace  of  youth, 
with  all  her  charms  increased  a  hundred 
fold  by  a  most  becoming  dress,  by  a  thou- 
sand little  coquettish  ways  which  nobody 
could  assume  with  a  better  grace,  and  all 
the  sparkling  expectation  of  that  accursed 
party.  It  is  impossible  to  tell  how  Joe 
ijated  that  party  wherever  it  was,  and  all 


the  other  people  who  were  going  to  it, 
whoever  they  were. 

And  she  hardly  looked  at  him — no,  hard- 
ly looked  at  him.  And  when  the  chair  was 
seen  through  the  open  door,  coming  blun- 
dering into  the  workshop,  she  actually  clap- 
ped her  hands  and  seemed  glad  to  go. 
But  Joe  gave  her  his  arm — there  was  some 
comfort  in  that — and  handed  her  into  it. 
To  see  her  seat  herself  inside,  with  her 
laughing  eyes  brighter  than  diamonds,  and 
her  hand  —  surely  she  had  the  prettiest 
hand  in  the  world  —  on  the  ledge  of  the 
open  window,  and  her  little  finger  provok- 
ingly  and  pertly  tilted  up,  as  if  it  wondered 
why  Joe  didn't  squeeze  or  kiss  it  !  To 
think  how  well  one  or  two  of  the  modest 
snowdrops  would  have  become  that  delicate 
boddice,  and  how  they  were  lying  neglect- 
ed outj-ide  the  parlour  window  !  To  see 
how  Miggs  looked  on,  with  a  face  expres- 
sive of  knowing  how  all  this  loveliness 
was  got  up,  and  of  being  in  the  secret  of 
every  string  and  pin  and  hook  and  eye,  and 
of  saying  it  ain't  half  as  real  as  you  think, 
and  I  could  look  quite  as  well  myself  if  1 
took  the  pains  !  To  hear  that  provoking 
precious  little  scream  when  the  chair  was 
hoisted  on  its  poles,  and  to  catch  that  tran- 
sient but  not-to-be-forgotten  vision  of  the 
happy  face  within — what  torments  and  ag- 
gravations, and  yet  what  delights  were 
these !  The  very  chairmen  seemed  fa- 
voured rivals  as  they  bore  her  down  the 
street. 

There  never  was  such  an  alteration  in  a 
small  room  in  a  small  time  as  in  that  par- 
lour when  they  went  back  to  finish  tea. 
So  dark,  so  deserted,  so  perfectly  disen- 
chanted. It  seemed  such  sheer  nonsense 
to  be  sitting  tamely  there,  when  she  wns 
at  a  dance  with  more  lovers  than  man 
could  calculate  fluttering  about  her — with 
the  whole  party  doting  on  and  adoring  her, 
and  wanting  to  marry  her.  Miggs  was 
hovering  about  too;  and  the  fact  of  her 
existence,  the  mere  circumstance  of  her 
ever  having  been  born,  appeared,  after 
Doll,  such  an  unaccountable  practical  joke. 
It  was  impossible  to  talk.  It  couldn't  be 
done.  He  had  nothing  left  for  it  but  to 
stir  his  tea  round,  and  round,  and  round, 
and  ruminate  on  all  the  fascinations  of  the 
locksmith's  lovely  daughter. 

Gabriel  was  dull  too.  It  was  a  part  of 
the  certain  uncertainty  of  Mrs.  Vardon's 
temper,  that  when  they  were  in  this  con- 
dition, she  should  be  gay  and  sprightly. 

"I  need  have  a  cheerful  disposition,  I 
am  sure,"  said  the  smiling  housewife,  "  to 
!  preserve  any  spirits  at  all ;  and  how  I  (\o  it 

I  can  scarcely  tell." 
I      "Ah,   mim,"   sighed   Miggs,  "  bcgg 'i^r 


C6 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


pardon  for  the  interruption,  theie  an't  a 
Hiany  like  yoii." 

"  Take  away,  Minrjrs,"  said  Mrs.Varden, 
risintr,  "  take  away,  pray.  I  know  1  'm  a 
restraint  here,  and  as  1  wish  everybody  to 
enjoy  themselves  as  tliey  best  can,  I  feel  I 
had  better  go." 

"  No,  no,  Martha,"  cried  the  locksmith. 
"  Stop  here.  I  'm  sure  we  shall  be  very 
eorry  to  lose  you,  eh  Joe  1"  Joe  started, 
and  said  "  Certainiy." 

«'  Thank  you,  Varden,  my  dear,"  return- 
ed his  wife ;  "  but  I  know  your  wishes  bet- 
ter. Tobacco,  and  beer,  or  spirits,  have 
much  greater  attractions  than  any  /can 
boast  of,  and  therefore  I  shall  go  and  sit 
up  stairs  and  look  out  of  the  window,  my 
love.  Good  night,  Mr.  Joseph.  I'm  very 
glad  to  have  seen  you,  and  only  wish  I 
could  have  provided  something  more  suita- 
ble to  your  taste.  Remember  me  very 
kindly  if  you  please  to  old  Mr.  Willet,  and 
tell  him  that  whenever  he  comes  here  I 
have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.  Good 
night !" 

Having  uttered  these  words  with  great 
sweetness  of  manner,  the  good  lady  dropped 


a  curtsy  remarkable  for  its  condescension, 
and  serenely  withdrew. 

And  it  was  for  this  Joe  had  looked  for- 
ward to  the  twenty-fitth  of  March  for 
weeks  and  weeks,  and  had  gathered  the 
flowers  with  so  much  care,  and  had  cocked 
his  hat  and  made  himself  so  smart  !  Thid 
was  the  end  of  all  his  bold  determination^ 
resolved  upon  for  the  hundredtli  time,  to 
speak  out  to  Dolly  and  tell  her  liow  he 
loved  her  !  To  see  her  for  a  minute — for 
but  a  minute  —  to  find  her  going  out  to  a 
party  and  glad  to  go  ;  to  be  Iwiked  upon 
us  a  common  pipe-smoker,  beer-bibber, 
spirit-guzzler,  and  tosspot  I  He  bade  fare- 
well to  his  friend  the  locksmith,  and  has- 
tened to  take  horse  at  the  Black  Lion, 
thinking  as  he  turned  towards  home,  as 
many  another  Joe  has  thought  bcf  ire  and 
since,  that  here  was  an  end  to  all  his  hopes 
— that  the  thing  was  impossible  and  never 
could  be  —  that  she  didn't  care  for  liim  — 
that  he  was  wretched  for  life  —  and  that 
the  only  congenial  prospect  left  liim  was 
to  go  for  a  soldier  or  a  sailor,  and  get  some 
obliging  enemy  to  knock  his  brains  cut  as 
soon  as  possible. 


CHAPTER  THE  FOURTEENTH. 


Joe  Willet  rode  leisurely  along  in  his 
desponding  mood,  picturing  the  locksmith's 
daughter  going  down  long  country-dances, 
and  posseUing  dreadfully  with  bold  stran- 
gers—  which  was  almost  too  much  to  bear 
—  when  he  heard  the  tramp  of  a  horse's 
feet  behind  him,  and  looking  back,  saw  a 
well-mounted  gentleman  advancing  at  a 
smart  canter.  As  this  rider  passed,  he 
checked  his  steed,  and  called  him  of  the 
Maypole  by  his  name.  Joe  set  spurs  to 
tlie  grey  mare,  and  was  at  his  side  directly. 

"  1  thought  it  was  you,  sir,"  he  said, 
touching  his  hat.  "A  fair  evening,  sir. 
Glad  to  see  you  out  of  doors  again." 

The  gentleman  smiled  and  nodded. 
"  What  gay  doings  have  been  going  on  to- 
day, Joe  1  Is  she  as  pretty  as  ever  I  Nay, 
don't  blush,  man." 

"If  1  coloured  at  all,  Mr.  Edward,"  said 
Joe,  "  which  1  didn't  know  I  did,  it  was  to 
think  I  should  have  been  such  a  fool  as 
ever  to  have  any  hope  of  her.  Are  you 
bound  for  our  house,  sir]" 

"  Yes.  As  I  am  not  quite  strong  yet,  I 
shall  stay  there  to-night,  and  ride  home 
ctx)liy  in  the  morning." 

"  If  you  're  in  no  particular  hurry,"  said 
Joe,  after  a  short  silence,  "  and  will  bear 
with  the  pace  of  this  poor  jade,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  ride  on  with  you  i:o  the  Warren, 


sir,  and  hold  your  horse  when  you  dis- 
mount. It'll  save  you  having  to  walk 
from  the  Maypole,  there  and  back  again. 
I  can  spare  the  time  well,  sir,  for  I  am  too 
soon." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  returned  Edward, 
"though  I  was  unconsciously  riding  fast 
just  now,  in  compliment  I  suppose  to  the 
pace  of  my  thoughts,  which  were  travel- 
ling post.  We  will  keep  together,  Joe, 
willingly,  and  be  as  good  company  as  may 
be.  So  I  say  again,  cheer  up,  think  of  the 
locksmith's  daughter  with  a  stout  heart, 
and  you  shall  win  her  yet." 

Joe  shook  his  head  ;  but  there  was  some- 
thing so  cheery  in  the  buoyant  hopeful 
manner  of  this  speech,  that  his  spirits  rose 
under  its  influence,  and  communicated  as 
it  would  seem  some  new  impulse  even  to 
the  grey  mare,  who,  breaking  from  her 
sober  amble  into  a  gentle  trot,  emulated 
the  pace  of  Edward  Chester's  horse,  and 
appeared  to  flatter  herself  that  he  was  do- 
ing his  very  best. 

It  was  a  fine  dry  night,  and  the  light  of 
a  young  moon,  which  was  then  just  rising 
shed  around  that  peace  and  tranquillitj 
which  give  to  evening  time  its  most  de- 
licious charm.  The  lengthened  shadowt 
of  the  trees,  soflened  as  if  reflected  in  stili 
water,  threw  their  carpet  on  the  path  tb« 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


67 


travellers  pursued,  and  the  light  wind  stir- 
red yet  more  softly  than  before,  as  thougrh 
it  were  soothing  nature  in  her  sleep.  By 
little  and  little  tlicy  ceased  talking,  and 
rode  on  side  by  side  in  a  pleasant  si- 
lence. 

"The  Maypole  lights  are  brilliant  to- 
night," said  Edwaid,  as  they  rode  along 
the  lane  from  which,  while  the  interven- 
ing trees  were  bare  of  leaves,  that  hostelry 
was  visible. 

"  Brilliant,  indeed,  sir,"  returned  Joe, 
rising  in  his  stirrups  to  get  a  better  view. 
"  Lights  in  the  large  room,  and  a  fire  glim- 
mering in  the  best  bed-chamber]  Why, 
what  company  can  this  be  for,  I  won- 
der!" 

"  Some  benighted  horseman  wending 
*owards  London,  and  deterred  from  going 
on  to-night  by  the  marvellous  tales  of  my 
friend  the  highwayman,  I  suppose,"  said 
Edward. 

"He  must  be  a  horseman  of  good  qual- 
ity to  have  such  accommodations.  Your 
bed  too,  sir — !" 

"  No  matter,  Joe.     Any  other  room  will 


do  for  me.  But  come  —  there 's  nine  Btri- 
king.     We  may  push  on." 

They  cantered  forward  at  as  brisk  a 
pace  as  Joe's  charger  could  attain,  and 
presently  stopped  in  the  little  copse  where 
he  had  left  her  in  the  morning.  Edward 
dismounted,  gave  his  bridle  to  his  com- 
panion, and  walked  with  a  light  step  to- 
wards the  house. 

A  female  servant  was  waiting  at  a  side 
gate  in  the  garden-wall,  and  admitted  him 
without  delay.  He  hurried  along  the  ter- 
race-walk, and  darted  up  a  flight  of  br<  ad 
steps  leading  into  an  old  and  gloomy  ii  ill, 
whose  walls  were  ornamented  with  ru«ty 
suits  of  armour,  antlers,  weapons  of  ti.e 
chase,  and  suchlike  garniture.  Here  he 
paused,  hut  not  long;  for  as  he  iookfl 
round,  as  if  expecting  the  attendant  t; 
have  followed,  and  wondering  she  had  not 
done  so,  a  lovely  girl  appeared,  whose  dark 
hair  next  moment  rested  on  his  breast. 
Almost  at  the  same  instant  a  heavy  hand 
was  laid  upon  her  arm,  Edward  felt  him- 
self thrust  away,  and  Mr.  Haredale  stood 
between  them. 


He  regarded  the  young  man  sternly 
without  removing  his  hat;  with  one  hand 
clasped  his  niece,  and  with  the  other,  in 
which  he  held  his  riding-whip,  motioned 
him  towards  the  door.  The  young  rnan 
drew  himself  up,  and  returned  his  gaze. 


"  This  is  well  done  of  you,  sir,  to  corrupt 
my  servants,  and  enter  my  house  unbidden 
and  in  secret,  like  a  thief!"  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale.    "  Leave  it,  sir,  and  return  no  more." 

"  Miss  Haredalc's  presence,"  returned 
the  3'oung  man,  "  and  your  relationship  tr 


68 


BARN  All Y    RUDGE. 


her  give  ycu  a  license  A'hich,  if  you  are 
a  brave  man,  yoii  will  not  abuse.  Yon 
nave  cotnpolled  me  to  this  course,  and  the 
fault  is  yours — not  mine." 

"  It  is  nt'iiher  generous,  nor  honourable, 
nor  the  act  of  a  true  man,  sir,"  retorted  the 
other,  "  to  tamper  with  the  affections  of  a 
weak,  trustinfj  g\r\,  while  you  shrink,  in 
your  unworthiness,  from  her  ffuardir.n  and 
protector,  and  dare  not  meet  the  lijrht  of 
day.  More  than  this  I  will  not  say  to  you, 
save  that  I  forbid  you  this  house,  and  re- 
quire you  to  be  gone." 

"  It  is  neither  generous,  nor  honourable, 
nor  the  act  of  a  true  man,  to  play  the  spy," 
said  Edward.  "  Your  words  imply  dis- 
honour, and  I  reject  them  with  tiie  scorn 
they  merit." 

"  You  will  find,"  said  IMr.  Haredale, 
calmly,  "your  trusty  go-between  in  wait- 
ing at  the  gate  by  which  you  entered.  I 
have  played  no  spy's  part,  sir.  I  chanced 
to  see  you  pass  the  gate,  and  followed. 
You  might  have  heard  me  knocking  for 
admission,  had  you  been  less  swift  of  foot, 
or  lingered  in  the  garden.  Please  to  with- 
draw. Your  presence  here  is  offensive  to 
me  and  distressful  to  my  niece."  As  he 
said  these  words,  he  passed  his  arm  about 
the  waist  of  the  terrified  and  weepinj^  girl, 
and  drew  her  closer  to  him  ;  and  though 
the  habitual  severity  of  his  manner  was 
scarcely  changed,  there  was  yet  apparent 
in  the  action  an  air  of  kindness  and  sympa- 
thy for  her  distress. 

"Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Edward,  "your 
arm  encircles  her  on  whom  I  have  set  my 
every  hope  and  thouglit,  and  to  purchase 
one  minute's  happiness  for  whom  I  would 
gladly  lay  down  my  life  ;  this  house  is  the 
casket  thdt  holds  the  precious  jewel  of  my 
existence.  Your  niece  has  plighted  her 
faith  to  me,  and  I  have  plighted  mine  to 
her.  What  have  I  done  that  you  should 
hold  me  in  this  light  esteem,  and  give  me 
these  discourteous  words  ?" 

"  You  have  done  that,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  "  which  must  be  undone.  You  have 
tied  a  lover's-knot  here  which  must  be  cut 
asunder.  Take  good  heed  of  what  I  say. 
Must.  I  cancel  the  bond  between  ye.  I 
reject  you,  and  all  of  your  kith  and  kin  — 
all  the  false,  hollow,  heartless  stock." 

"  High  words,  sir,"  said  Edward  scorn- 
fully. 

"  Words  of  purpose  and  meaning,  as 
you  will  find,"  replied  the  other.  "  Lay 
them  to  heart." 

"  Lay  you  then,  these,"  said  Edward. 
"Your  cold  and  sullen  temper,  which  chills 
every  breast  about  you,  which  turns  afiec- 
tion  into  fear,  and  changes  duty  into  dread, 
nas  forced  us  on  this  secret  course,  repue- 
naul  to  our  nature  and   our  wish,  and  far 


more  foreign,  sir,  to  us  than  you.  I  anr. 
not  a  false,  a  hollow,  or  a  heart.ess  man  ; 
the  character  is  yours,  who  poorly  venture 
on  these  injurious  terms,  against  the  truth, 
and  under  shelter  whereof  I  reminded  you 
just  now.  You  shall  not  cancel  the  bond 
between  us.  I  will  not  abandon  this  pur- 
suit. I  rely  upon  your  niece's  truth  and 
honour,  and  set  your  influence  at  nought. 
I  leave  her  with  a  confidence  in  her  pure 
faith,  which  you  will  never  weaken,  and 
with  no  concern  but  that  I  do  not  leave  her 
in  some  gentler  care." 

With  that,  he  pressed  her  cold  hand  to 
his  lips,  and  once  more  encountering  and 
returning  Mr.  Haredale's  steady  look,  witl)- 
drew. 

A  few  words  to  Joe  as  he  mounted  his 
horse  sufficiently  explained  what  had  pass- 
ed, and  renewed  all  that  young  gentle- 
man's despondency  with  tenfold  aggrava- 
tion. They  rode  back  to  the  Maypole 
without  exchanging  a  syllable,  and  arrived 
at  the  door  with  heavy  hearts. 

Old  John,  who  had  peeped  from  behind 
the  red  curtain  as  they  rode  up  shouting 
for  Hugh,  was  out  directly,  and  said  with 
great  importance  as  he  held  the  young 
man's  stirrup, 

"  He's  comfortable  in  bed — the  best  bed. 
A  thorough  gentleman ;  the  smilingest, 
affablest  gentleman  I  ever  had  to  do 
with." 

"  Who,  Willetl"  said  Edward  carelessly, 
as  he  dismounted. 

"  Your  worthy  father,  sir,"  replied  John. 
"Yf)ur  honourable,  venerable  father." 

"What  does  he  mean?"  said  Edward, 
looking  with  a  mixture  of  alarm  and  doubt 
at  Joe. 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Joe.  "  Don't 
you  see  Mr.  Edward  doesn't  understand, 
father  ?" 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  of  it,  sir?"  said 
John,  opening  his  eyes  wide.  "  How  very 
singular  !  Bless  you,  he  's  been  here  ever 
since  noon,  to-day,  and  Mr.  Haredale  has 
been  having  a  long  talk  with  him,  and 
hasn't  been  gone  an  hour." 

"My  father,  Willet!" 

"Yes,  sir,  he  told  me  so  —  a  handsome, 
slim,  upright  gentleman,  in  green-and-gold. 
In  your  old  room  up  yonder,  sir.  No  doubt 
you  can  go  in,  sir,"  said  John,  walking 
backwards  into  the  road  and  looking  up  at 
the  window.  "  He  hasn't  put  out  his  can- 
dles yet,  I  see." 

Edward  glanced  at  the  window  also,  and 
hastily  murmuring  that  he  had  changed 
his  mind — forgotten  something — and  must 
return  to  London,  mounted  his  horse  again 
and  rode  away ;  leaving  the  Willets,  fathei 
and  son.  looking  at  each  other  in  mute  as- 
toni^huient. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTEENTH. 


At  n>Kin  nv  i'  day,  Joliri  Willet's  g^uest 
sat  lingerin;^  o.er  his  breakfast  in  liis  own 
hoir.e,  surroa>.<  eu  by  a  variety  of  comforts, 
which  left  tiie  Muypole's  hiphcst  flitrht  and 
utmost  stretch  of  accommodation  at  an  in- 
finite distance  bei)ind,  and  suorffested  com- 
parisons very  much  to  the  disadvantage 
and  disfavour  of  that  venerable  tavern. 

In  the  broad  old-fashioned  window-seat 
— as  capacious  as  modern  sofas,  and  cushion- 
ed to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  luxurious  set- 
tee —  in  tiie  broad  old-fashioned  window- 
seat  of  a  roomy  chamber,  Mr.  Chester 
lounged,  very  much  at  his  ease,  over  a  vvell- 
furnisiied  breakfast -table.  He  had  ex- 
changed his  riding-coat  for  a  handsome 
morning-gown,  his  boots  for  slippers;  had 
been  at  great  pains  to  atone  for  the  having 
been  obliged  to  make  his  toilet  when  he 
rose  without  the  aid  of  dressing-case  and 
tiring  equipage;  and,  having  gradually 
forgotten  through  these  mgans  the  discom- 
forts of  an  indifferent  night  and  an  early 
ride,  was  in  a  state  of  perfect  complacency, 
indoknce,  and  satisfaction. 

The  situation  in  which  he  found  himself, 
indeed,  was  particularly  favourable  to  the 
growth  of  these  feelings;  for,  not  to  men- 
tion the  lazy  influence  of  a  late  and  lonely 
breakfast,  with  the  additional  sedative  of  a 
newspaper,  there  was  an  air  of  repose 
about  his  place  of  residence  peculiar  to  it- 
self, and  which  hanofs  about  it,  even  in 
tnese  tmies,  when  it  is  more  bustling  and 
busy  than  it  was  in  the  days  of  yore. 

There  are  still,  worse  places  than  the 
Temple,  on  a  sultry  day,  for  basking  in  the 
Bun,  or  resting  idly  in  the  shade.  There 
IS  yet  a  arowsmess  m  its  courts,  and  a 
dreamy  diilness  in  its  trees  and  gardens; 
those  who  pace  its  lanes  and  squares  may 
yet  hear  the  echoes  of  their  foote-tops  on 
the  sounding  stones,  and  read  upon  its 
gates,  in  passing  from  the  tumult  of  the 
Strand  or  Fleet  Street,  "  Who  enters  here 
leaves  noise  behind."  There  is  still  the 
plash  of  falling  water  in  fair  Fountain 
Court,  and  there  are  yet  nooks  and  corners 
where  dun-haunted  students  may  look  down 
from  their  diisty  garrets,  on  a  vagrant  ray 
of  sunlight  patching  the  shade  of  the  tall 
houses,  and  seldom  troubled  to  reflect  a 
passing  stranger's  form.  There  is  yet,  in 
the  Temple,  something  of  a  clerkly  monk- 
ish atmosphere,  which  public  rlfices  of 
law  have  not  disturbed,  and  even  legal 
firms  have  failed  to  scare  away.  In  sum- 
mer time,  its  pumps  sugL^est  to  tiiirsty 
idlers,  springs  cooler,  and  more  sparklmsr, 
and  deeper  than  other  wells ;  and  as  they 
5 


trace  the  spillings  of  full  pitchers  on  tho 
heated  ground,  they  snutf  the  freshness, 
and,  sighing,  cast  sad  looks  towards  the 
Thames,  and  tiiink  of  baths  and  boats,  and 
saunter  on,  despondent. 

It  was  in  a  room  in  Paper  Buildings — a 
row  of  goodly  tenements,  shaded  in  front 
by  ancient  trees,  and  looking,  at  the  back, 
upon  Temple  Gardens — that  this,  our  idler, 
lounged  ;  now  taking  up  again  the  paper 
he  had  laid  down  a  hundred  times;  now 
trifling  with  the  fragments  of  his  meal; 
now  pulling  forth  his  golden  toothpick,  and 
glancing  leisurely  about  the  room,  or  out 
at  window  into  the  trim  garden-walks, 
where  a  few  early  loiterers  were  already 
pacing  to  and  fro.  Here  a  pair  of  lovers 
met  to  quarrel  and  make  up;  there  a  dark- 
eyed  nursery-maid  had  better  eyes  for 
Templars  than  her  charge;  on  this  hand 
an  ancient  spinster,  with  her  lapdog  in  a 
string,  regarded  both  enormities  with  scorn- 
ful sidelong  looks;  on  that  a  weazen  old 
gentleman,  ogling  the  nursery-maid,  looked 
with  like  scorn  upon  the  spinster,  and  won- 
dered she  didn't  know  she  was  no  longer 
young.  Apart  from  all  these,  on  the  river's 
margin,  two  or  three  couple  of  business-^ 
talkers  walked  slowly  up  and  down  in  ear- 
nest conversation  ;  and  one  young  man  sat 
thoughtfully  on  a  bench,  alone. 

"Ned  is  amazingly  patient !"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  glancing  at  tliis  last-named  person 
as  he  set  down  his  teacup  and  plied  the 
golden  toothpick,  "  immensely  patient !  He 
was  sitting  yonder  when  I  began  to  dress, 
and  has  scarcely  changed  his  posture  since. 
A  most  eccentric  dog!" 

As  he  spoke,  the  figure  rose,  and  canih 
towards  him  with  a  rapid  pace. 

"  Really,  as  if  he  had  heard  me,"  said 
the  father,  resuminir  his  newspap  r  witli  a 
yawn.     "  Dear  Ned  !' 

Presently  the  room-door  opened,  and  th" 
young  man  entered ;  to  whom  his  father 
gently  waved  his  hand,  and  smiled. 

"Are  you  at  leisure  for  a  little  conversa- 
tion, sir]"  said  Edward. 

"  Surely,  Ned.  I  am  always  at  leisure. 
You  know  my  constitution.  —  Have  you 
breakfasted  ?" 

"  Three  hours  ago." 

"What  a  very  early  doQ- !"  cried  his  fa- 
ther, contemplating  him  from  behind  the 
toothpick,  with  a  languid  smile. 

"The  truth  is,"  said  Edward,  bringing 
a  chair  forward,  and  seating  himself  near 
the  table,  "that  1  slept  but  ill  last  night, 
and  was  glad  to  rise.     Th?  cause  of  n»v 


70 


BARN  A  BY    RUDGE. 


uneasiness  cannot  but  be  known  to  you, 
sir  ;  and  it  is  upon  that,  I  wish  to  speak."    j 

"  My  dear  boy,"  returned  his  father, 
"confide  in  me,  I  beg.  But  you  know  my 
constitution — don't  be  prosy,  Ned." 

"  I  will  be  plain,  and  brief,"  said  Ed- 
ward. 

"Don't  say  you  will,  my  good  fellow," 
returned  his  father,  crossing  his  legs,  "or 
you  certainly  will  not.  You  are  going  to 
tell  me 

"  Plainly  mis,  then,"  said  the  son,  with 
an  air  of  great  concern,  "that  1  know 
where  you  were  last  night — from  being  on 
the  spot,  indeed — and  whom  you  saw,  and 
what  your  purpose  was." 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  cried  his  father. 
"I  am  delighted  to  hear  it.  It  saves  us 
the  worry,  and  terrible  wear  and  tear  of  a 
long  explanation,  and  is  a  great  relief  for 
both.  At  the  very  house  !  Why  didn't  | 
you  come  up  ]  I  should  have  been  charm- 
ed to  see  you." 

"  I  knew  that  what  I  had  to  say  would 
be  belter  said  after  a  night's  reflection, 
when  both  of  us  were  cool,"  returned  the 
son. 

"  'Fore  Gad,  Ned,"  rejoined  the  father, 
"  I  was  cool  enough  last  night.  That  de- 
testable Maypole  !  By  some  infernal  con- 
trivance of  the  builder,  it  holds  the  wind, 
and  keeps  it  fresh.  You  remember  the 
•sharp  east  wind  that  blew  so  iiard  five 
'*'ceks  ago]     I  give  you  my  honour  it  was 


rampant  in  that  old  house  last  night, 
though  out  of  doors  there  was  a  dead  calm. 
But  you  were  saying " 

"  I  was  about  to  say.  Heaven  knows 
how  seriously  and  earnestly,  that  you  have 
made  me  wretched,  sir.  Will  you  hear 
me  gravely  for  a  moment?" 

"  My  dear  Ned,"  said  his  father,  "  I  will 
hear  you  with  ihe  patience  of  an  anciio- 
rite.     Oblige  me  with  the  milk." 

"  I  saw  Miss  Haredale  last  nighi,"  Ed- 
ward resumed,  when  he  had  complied  with 
this  request;  "her  uncle,  in  her  presence, 
immediately  after  your  interview,  and,  as 
of  course  1  know,  in  consequence  of  it, 
forbade  me  the  house,  and,  with  circum- 
stances of  indignity  which  are  of  your 
creation  1  am  sure,  commanded  me  to  leave 
it  on  the  instant." 

"  For  his  manner  of  doing  so,  I  ffive  you 
my  honour,  Ned,  I  am  not  accountable," 
said  his  father.  "That  you  must  excuse. 
He  is  a  mere  boor,  a  log,  a  brute,  with  no 
address  in  life. — Positively  a  fly  in  the  jug. 
The  first  I  have  seen  this  year." 

Edward  rose,  and  paced  the  room.  His 
imperturbable  parent  sipped  his  tea. 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  man,  stopping 
at  length  before  him,  "  we  must  not  trifle 
in  this  matter.  We  must  not  deceive  each 
other,  or  ourselves.  Let  me  pursue  the 
manly  open  part  I  wish  to  take,  and  do  not 
repel  me  by  this  unkind  in  liflerencc." 

•'  Whether  I  am  indifferent  or  no,"  ro 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


71 


turned  the  other,  "  I  leave  you,  my  dear  ] 
boy,  to  judge.  A  ride  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty  miles,  throucrh  miry  roads  —  a  May- 
pole dinner  —  a  tote-a-tute  with  Haredale, 
which,  vanity  apart,  was  quite  a  Valentine 
and  Orson  business  —  a  Maypole  bed  —  a 
Maypole  landlord,  and  a  Maypole  retinue 
of  idiots  and  centaurs ; — whether  the  volun- 
tary endurance  of  these  thin<,'s  looks  like 
indifference,  dear  Ned,  or  like  the  exces- 
Bive  anxiety,  and  devotion,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  of  a  parent,  you  shall  determine 
for  yourself." 

'*  I  wish  you  to  consider,  sir,"  said  Ed- 
ward, "  in  what  a  cruel  situation  I  am 
placed.  Lovmg  Miss  Haredale  as  I 
do " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  interrupted  his  father 
with  a  compassionate  smile,  "  you  do  no- 
thing of  the  kind.  You  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it.  There 's  no  such  thing,  I 
assure  you.  Now,  do  take  my  word  for  it. 
You  have  good  sense,  Ned,  —  great  good 
sense.  I  wonder  you  should  be  guilty  of 
such  amazing  absurdities.  You  really  sur- 
prise me." 

"I  repeat,"  said  his  son  firmly,  "that  I 
love  her.  You  have  interposed  to  part  us, 
and  have,  to  the  extent  I  have  just  now 
told  you  of,  succeeded.  May  I  induce  you, 
gir,  in  time,  to  think  more  favourably  of 
our  attachment,  or  is  it  your  intention  and 
your  fixed  design  to  hold  us  asunder  if  you 
can !" 

"My  dear  Ned,"  returned  his  father, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff  and  pushing  his 
box  towards  him,  "that  is  my  purpose, 
most  undoubtedly." 

"The  time  that  has  elapsed,"  rejoined 
his  son,  "  since  I  began  to  know  her  worth, 
has  fiown  in  such  a  dream  that  until  now 
I  have  hardly  once  paused  to  reflect  upon 
my  true  position.  \Vhatisit1  From  my 
childhood  I  have  been  accustomed  to  lux- 
ury and  idleness,  and  have  been  bred  as 
though  my  fortune  were  large,  and  my 
expectations  almost  without  a  limit.  The 
idea  of  wealth  has  been  familiarised  to  me 
from  my  cradle.  I  have  been  taught  to 
look  upon  those  means,  by  which  men  raise 
themselves  to  riches  and  distinction,  as 
being  beyond  my  heeding,  and  beneath  my 
care.  I  have  been,  as  the  phrase  is,  liber- 
ally educated,  and  am  fit  for  nothing.  I 
find  myself  at  last  wholly  dependent  upon 
you,  with  no  resource  but  in  your  favour. 
In  this  momentous  question  of  my  life  we 
do  not,  and  it  would  seem  we  never  can, 
agree.  I  have  shrunk  instinctively  alike 
from  those  to  whom  you  have  urged  me  to 
pay  court,  and  from  the  motives  of  interest 
and  gam  whicli  have  rendered  them  in 
your  eyes  visible  objects  for  my  suit.  If 
there   never   has  been  thus  much   plain- 


speaking  between  us  before,  sir,  tne  fault 
has  not  been  mine,  indeed.  If  I  seem  to 
speak  too  plainly  now,  it  is,  believe  me,  fa- 
ther, in  the  hope  that  there  may  be  a 
franker  spirit,  a  worthier  reliance,  and  a 
kinder  confidence  between  us  in  time  to 
come." 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  his  smiling  fa- 
ther, "  you  quite  affect  me.  Go  on,  my 
dear  Edward,  I  beg.  But  remember  your 
promise.  There  is  great  earnestness,  vast 
candour,  a  manifest  sincerity  in  all  you 
say,  but  I  fear  I  observe  the  faintest  indi- 
cations of  a  tendency  to  prose." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  too,  Ned,  but  you 
know  that  I  cannot  fix  my  mind  for  any 
long  period  upon  one  subject.  If  you'll 
come  to  the  point  at  once,  I  '11  imagine  all 
that  ouffht  to  go  before,  and  conclude  it 
said.  Oblige  me  with  the  milk  again. 
Listening,  invariably  makes  me  feverish."' 

"  What  I  would  say,  then,  tends  to  this," 
said  Edward.  "  I  cannot  bear  this  absolute 
dependence,  sir,  even  upon  you.  Time  has 
been  lost  and  opportunity  thrown  away, 
but  I  am  yet  a  young  man,  and  may  retrieve 
it.  Will  you  give  me  the  means  of  devot- 
ing such  abilities  and  energies  as  I  possess. 
to  some  worthy  pursuit]  Will  you  let 
me  try  to  make  for  myself  an  honourable 
path  in  life"!  For  any  term  you  please 
to  name — say  for  five  years  if  you  will 
— I  will  pledge  myself  to  move  no  further 
in  the  matter  of  our  difference  without  youi 
full  concurrence.  During  that  period,  I 
will  endeavour  earnestly  and  patiently,  if 
ever  man  did,  to  open  some  prospect  for 
myself,  and  free  you  from  the  burden  you 
fear  I  should  become  if  I  married  one  wlrose 
worth  and  beauty  are  her  chief  endow- 
ments. Will  you  do  this,  sir?  At  the  ex- 
piration of  the  term  we  agree  upon,  let  us 
discuss  this  subject  again.  Till  then,  un- 
less it  is  revived  by  you,  let  it  never  be  re- 
newed between  us." 

"  My  dear  Ned,"  returned  his  father, 
laying  down  the  newspaper  at  which  he 
had  been  glancing  carelessly,  and  throwing 
himself  back  in  the  window-seat,  "  I  be- 
lieve you  know  how  very  much  I  dislike 
what  are  called  family  affairs,  which  are 
only  fit  for  plebeian  Christmas  days,  and 
have  no  manner  of  business  with  pedple  of 
our  condition.  But  as  you  are  proce*-'ding 
upon  a  mistake,  Ned  —  altogether  upon  a 
mistake — I  will  conquer  my  repugnanc(;  to 
entering  on  such  matters,  and  give  you  a 
perfectly  plain  and  candid  ansv/er,  if  you 
will  do  me  the  favour  to  shut  the  door." 

Edward  having  obeyed  him,  he  took  an 
elegant  little  knife  from  his  pocket,  and 
paring  his  nails,  continued: 

"  You  have  to  thank  me,  Ned,  for  being 


72 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


of  "i^ood  family;  for  your  mother,  charininw 
pefi-on  as  she  was,  and  almost  broken- 
lieartcd,  and  so  fbrtii,  as  siio  left  me,  whon 
she  was  prematnn.'iy  compelled  to  bt^come 
immortal — had  nothing  to  boast  of  in  that 
respect." 

"  Her  father  was  at  least  an  eminent 
»awyer,  sir,"  said  Edward. 

"Qnite  riirht.  Nod ;  perfectly  so.  He 
stood  high  at  the  bar,  had  a  great  name 
and  great  weallJi,  but  havins;;  risen  from 
nothing — I  have  always  closed  my  eyes  to 
the  circumstance,  and  steadily  resisted  its 
contemplation,  but  I  fear  his  father  dealt  in 
pork,  and  that  his  busine.'^s  did  once  involve 
cow-heel  and  sausages — he  wished  to  marry 
his  daughter  into  a  good  family.  He  had 
his  heart's  desire,  Ned.  I  was  a  younger 
son's  younger  son,  and  I  married  her.  vVe 
each  had  our  object  and  gained  it.  She 
stepped  at  once  into  the  politest  and  best 
circles,  and  1  stepped  into  a  fortune  which 
I  assure  you  was  very  necessary  to  my 
comfort  —  quite  indispensable.  Now,  my 
good  fellow,  that  fortune  is  among  the 
things  that  have  been.  It  is  gone,  Ned, 
and  has  been  gone — how  old  are  you  ]  I 
always  forget." 

"Seven-and-twenty,  sir." 

"Are  you  indeed!"  cried  his  father, 
raising  his  eyelids  in  a  languishing  surprise. 
"So  nuich !  Then  1  should  say,  Ned,  that 
as  nearly  as  I  remember,  its  skirts  vanish- 
ed from  human  knowledge,  about  eighteen 
or  nineteen  years  ago.  It  was  about  that 
time  when  I  came  to  live  in  these  cham- 
Ders  (once  your  grandfather's,  and  bequeath- 
ed by  that  extremely  respectable  person  to 
me),  and  commenced  to  live  upon  an  incon- 
siderable annuity  and  my  past  reputation." 

"You  are  jesting  with  me,  sir,"  said 
Edward. 

"  Not  in  the  slightest  degree,  I  assure 
you,"  returned  his  f^ither,  with  great  com- 
posure. "These  family  topics  are  so  ex- 
tremely dry,  that  I  am  sorry  to  say  th^y 
don't  admit  of  any  such  relief.  It  is  for 
that  reason,  and  bpcause  they  have  an  ap- 
pearance of  business,  that  I  dislike  them 
so  very  much.  Well!  You  know  the  rest. 
A  son,  Ned,  unless  he  is  old  enough  to  be 
a  companion — that  is  to  say,  unless  he  is 
some  two  or  three  and  twenty — is  not  the 
kind  of  thin?  to  have  about  one.  He  is  a 
restraint  upon  hi?  father,  his  father  is  a  re- 
straint upon  him.  Jind  they  make  each  other 
mutually  uncouirortable.  Therefor-,  until 
within  the  last  four  years  or  so — 1  have  a 
poor  memory  for  dates,  and  if  I  mistake, 
you  will  correct  me  in  your  own  mind — 
you  pursued  your  studies  at  a  distance,  and 
picked  up  a  great  variety  of  accomplish- 
ments. Occasionally  we  passed  a  week  or 
wo  togeliier  iuvre,  and  disconcerted  each 


other  as  only  such  near  relations  can.  At 
last  you  came  home.  I  candidly  tell  you, 
my  dear  boy,  that  if  you  had  been  awk- 
ward and  overgrown,  I  should  have  ex- 
ported you  to  some  distant  part  of  the 
world." 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  soul  yon  Ind,  sir," 
said  Edward. 

"No  you  don't,  Ned,"  rejoined  his  fa- 
ther, coolly;  "you  are  mistaken,  I  assure 
you.  I  found  you  a  handsome,  prcposse.-;s- 
ing,  elegant  fellow,  and  I  threw  you  into 
the  society  I  can  still  command.  Having 
done  that,  my  dear  fellow,  I  consider  that 
I  have  provided  for  you  in  life,  and  rely  on 
your  doing  something  to  provide  for  ine  in 
return." 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning,  sir." 
"My  meaning,  Ned,  is  obvious  —  I  ob- 
serve another  fly  in  the  cream-jug,  but 
have  the  goodness  not  to  take  it  out  as  you 
did  the  first,  for  their  walk  when  th'^-ir  legs 
are  milky,  is  extremely  ungraceful  and  di:»- 
agreeable — my  meaning  is,  that  you  must 
do  as  I  did ;  that  you  must  marry  well  and 
make  the  most  of  yourself." 

"A  mere  fortune-hunter!"  cried  the  son, 
indignantly. 

"  What  in  the  devil's  name,  Ned,  would 
you  be !"  returned  the  father.  "All  men 
are  fortune-hunters,  are  they  not  1  The 
law,  the  church,  the  court,  the  camp — see 
how  they  are  all  crowded  with  fortune 
hunters,  jostling  each  other  in  the  pursuit. 
The  Stock-exchange,  the  pulpit,  the  count- 
ing-house, the  royal  drawing-room,  the 
senate, — what  but  fortune-hunters  are  they 
filled  with  !  A  fortune-hunter  !  Yes.  You 
are  one;  and  you  would  be  nothing  else, 
my  dear  Ned,  if  you  w^ere  the  greatest 
courtier,  lawyer,  legislator,  pielate,  or  mer- 
chant, in  existence.  If  you  are  squeamish 
and  moral,  Ned,  console  yourself  with  the 
reflection,  that  at  the  worst  your  fi)rtune- 
huntins  can  make  but  one  person  miserable 
I  or  unhappy.  How  many  people  do  you 
j  suppose  these  other  kinds  of  huntsmen 
crush  in  following  their  sport — hundreds  at 
a  step  !     Or  thousands?" 

The  young  man  leant  his  head  upon  his 
hand,  and  made  no  answer. 

"  I  am  quite  charmed,"  said  the  father, 
rising,  and   walking  slowly  to  and  fro  — 
stopping  now  and  tlum  to  glance  at  himself 
in   a   mirror,  or  survey  a   piclnre   through 
his   glass,  with   the  air  ot  a   connoisseur, 
1  "  that  we  have  had  this  convrrsation,  Ned, 
i  unpromising  as  it   was.     It  establishes   a 
confidence  between   us  which   is  (piite  de- 
lightful, and  was  certainly  neci's>!iry,  though 
j  how  you  can  ever  have  mistaken  our  po- 
sition and  designs,  I  must  conte.-s  i  cannot 
!  understand.      \    conceived,    until    1    found 
your   fancy   for   this   girl,    that   all    these 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


•3 


points  were  tacitly  agreed  upon  between 
us," 

"I  knew  you  were  embarrassed  sir,"  re- 
turned the  son,  raising  his  liead  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  fallinij  into  his  former  atti- 
tude, "  but  I  bad  no  idea  we  were  the  beir- 
i/ared  wretches  you  describe.  How  could 
1  suppose  it,  bred  as  I  have  been  ;  witness- 
ing tiie  life  you  have  always  led ;  and  the 
appearance  you  have  always  made  1" 

"My  dear  child,"  said  the  father  —  "for 
you  really  talk  so  like  a  child  that  I  must 
call  you  one  —  you  were  bred  upon  a  care- 
ful principle  ;  the  very  manner  of  your 
education,  I  assure  you,  maintained  my 
credit  surprisingly.  As  to  the  life  I  lead, 
1  must  lead  it,  Ned  —  I  must  have  these 
little  refinements  about  me.  I  have  always 
been  used  to  them,  and  I  cannot  exist  with- 
out them.  They  must  surround  me,  you 
observe,  and  therefore  they  are  here.  With 
regard  to  our  circumstances,  Ned,  you  may 
6et  your  mind  at  r^st  upon  that  score.  They 
are  desperate.  Your  own  appearance  is  by 
no  means  despicable,  and  our  joint  pocket- 
money  alone  devours  our  income.  That's 
the  truth." 

"  Why  have  I  never  known  this  before] 
Why  have  you  encouraged  me,  sir,  to  an 
expenditure  and  mode  of  life  to  which  we 
have  no  right  or  title  !" 

"  My  rrood  fellow,"  returned  his  father 
more  compassionately  than  ever,  "  if  you 
made  no  appearance,  how  could  you  possi- 
bly succeed  in  the  pursuit  for  which  I  des- 
tined you  ?  As  to  our  mode  of  life,  every  I 
man  has  a  right  to  live  in  the  best  way  he  i 
can  ;  and  to  make  himself  as  comfortable 
as  he  can,  or  he  is  an  unnatural  scoundrel,  j 
Our  debts,  I  grant,  are  very  great,  and 
therefore  it  the  more  behoves  you,  as  a 
young  man  of  principle  and  honour,  to  pay 
them  oft'  as  speedily  as  possible." 

"The  v^iIlain's  part,"  muttered  Edward, 
"  that  I  have  unconsciously  played  !  I  to 
win  the  heart  of  Emma  Haredale  !  I 
would,  for  her  sake,  I  had  died  first !" 

♦'I  am  glad  you  see,  Ned,"  returned  his 


father,  "how  perfi'Ctly  self-evident  it  is« 
that  nothing  can  be  done  in  that  quarter. 
But  apart  from  this,  and  the  necessity  of 
your  speedily  bestowini);  yourself  m  another 
(as  you  know  you  could  to-morrow,  if  you 
chose),  I  wish  you'd  look  upon  it  pleasant- 
ly. In  a  religious  point  of  view,  alone, 
how  could  you  ever  think  of  uniting  your- 
self to  a  Catholic,  unless  she  was  amazing- 
ly rich  1  You  ought  to  be  so  very  Protest- 
ant, coming  of  such  a  Protestant  family  as 
you  do.  J.et  us  be  moral,  Ned,  or  we  are 
nothmo-.  Even  if  one  could  set  that  objec- 
tion aside,  which  is  impossible,  we  come  to 
another  which  is  quite  conclusive.  The 
very  idea  of  marrying  a  girl  whose  father 
was  killed,  like  meat!  Good  God,  Ned. 
how  disaofreeable!  Consider  the  impos- 
sibility of  having  any  respect  for  your 
father-in-law,  under  such  unpleasant  cir- 
cuuistanct^s  —  think  of  his  having  been 
'viewed'  by  juiors,  and  'sat  upon'  by  coro- 
ners, and  of  his  very  doubtful  position  in 
the  family  ever  afterwards.  It  seems  to 
me  sucli  an  indelicate  sort  of  thing  that  I 
really  think  the  girl  ought  to  have  been 
put  to  death  by  the  state  to  prevent  its  hap- 
pening. But  I  tease  you  perhaps.  You 
would  rather  be  alone?  My  dear  Ned, 
most  willingly.  God  bless  you.  I  shall 
be  going  out  presently,  but  we  shall  meet 
to-night,  or  if  not  to-night,  certainly  tor 
morrow.  Take  care  of  yourself  in  the 
mean  time,  for  both  our  sakes.  You  are  a 
person  of  great  consequence  to  me,  Ned — 
of  vast  consequence  indeed.  God  bless  you!" 
With  these  words,  the  father,  who  had 
been  arranging  his  cravat  in  the  glass, 
while  he  uttered  them  in  a  disconnected 
careless  manner,  withdrew,  humn.ing  a 
tune  as  he  went.  The  son,  who  had  ap- 
peared so  lost  in  thought  as  not  to  hear  or 
understand  them,  remained  quite  still  and 
silent.  After  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour  or 
so,  the  elder  Chester,  eaily  dressed,  went 
out.  The  younger  still  sat  with  his  head 
resting  on  his  hands,  in  what  appeared  to 
be  a  kind  of  stupor. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTEENTH. 


A  SERIES  of  pictures  representing  the 
streets  of  London  in  the  night,  even  at  the 
comparatively  recent  date  of  this  tale, 
would  present  to  the  eye  something  so  very 
different  in  character  from  the  reality 
which  is  witnessed  in  these  times,  that  it 
would  be  ditRcult  for  the  beholder  to  recog- 
nise his  most  "familiar  walks,  in  the  altered 
aspect  of  little  more  than  half  a  century 
Rgo. 

They  were,  one  and  all,  from  the  broad- 


est and  best  to  the  narrowest  and  least  fre- 
quented, very  dark.  The  oil  and  cotton 
lamps,  thouffh  regularly  trimmed  twice  or 
thrice  in  the  long  winter  niffhts,  burnt 
fpebly  at  the  best;  and  at  a  late  hour,  when 
they  were  unassisted  by  the  lamps  and 
candles  in  the  shops,  cast  but  a  narrow 
track  of  doubtful  light  upon  the  footway 
leaving  the  projecting  doors  and  house- 
fronts  in  the  deepest  gloom  Many  of  the 
courts  and  lanes  were  left  in  total  dark , 


74 


BAIiNABY  RUDGE. 


ness ;  those  of  the  meaner  sort,  where  one 
glimmering  light  twinkled  for  a  score  of 
houses,  being  favoured  in  no  sligiit  degree. 
Even  in  these  places,  the  inhabitants  had 
often  good  reason  for  extinguishing  their 
lamp  as  soon  as  it  was  ligliled  ;  and  the 
watch  being  utterly  inefficient  and  power- 
less to  prevent  them,  tiiey  did  so  at  their 
pleasure.  Thus,  in  the  lightest  thorough- 
fares, there  was  at  every  turn  some  obscure 
and  dangerous  spot  whither  a  thief  might 
fly  for  siielter,  and  few  would  care  to  fol- 
low ;  and  the  city  being  belted  round  by 
fields,  green  lanes,  waste  grounds,  and 
lonely  roads,  dividing  it  at  that  time  from 
the  suburbs  tliat  have  joined  it  since,  es- 
cape, even  where  the  pursuit  was  hot,  was 
rendered  easy. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  with  these  favouring 
circ'imstances  in  full  and  constant  opera- 
tion, street  robberies,  often  accompanied  by 
cruel  wounds,  and  not  unfrequently  by  loss 
of  life,  should  have  been  of  nightly  occur- 
rence in  the  very  heart  of  London,  or  that 
quit't  folks  should  have  had  great  dread  of 
traversing  its  streets  after  the  shops  were 
closed.  It  was  not  unusual  for  those  who 
wended  home  alone  at  midniglit,  to  keep 
the  middle  of  the  road,  the  better  to  guard 
against  surprise  from  lurking  footpads;  few 
would  venture  to  repair  at  a  late  hour  to 
Kentish  Town  or  Hampstead,  or  even  to 


Kensington  or  Chelsea,  unarmed  and  un- 
attended ;  while  he  who  had  been  loudest 
and  most  valiant  at  the  gjpper-table  or  the 
tavern,  and  had  but  a  mile  or  so  to  go,  was 
glad  to  fee  a  link-boy  to  escort  him  home. 

There  were  many  other  characteristics 
—  not  quite  so  disagreeable  —  about  the 
thorougiifares  of  London  then,  with  which 
they  had  been  long  familiar.  Some  of  the 
shops,  especially  tiiose  to  the  eastward  of 
Temple  Bar,  still  adhered  to  the  old  prac- 
tice of  hanging  out  a  sign ;  and  the  creak- 
ing and  swinging  of  these  boards  in  their 
iron  frames  on  windy  nights,  formed  a 
strange  and  mournful  concert  for  the  ears 
of  those  who  lay  awake  in  bed  or  hurried 
through  the  streets.  Long  stands  of  hack- 
ney-chairs and  groups  of  chairmen,  com- 
pared with  whom  the  coachmen  of  our  day 
are  gentle  and  polite,  ob:-tructed  the  way 
and  filled  the  air  with  clamour;  night-cel- 
lars, indicated  by  a  little  streani  of  light 
crossing  the  pavement,  and  stretching  out 
half  way  into  the  road,  and  by  the  stilled 
roar  of  voices  from  below,  yawned  for  the 
reception  and  entertainment  of  the  most 
abandoned  of  both  sexes;  under  evt-ry  shed 
and  bulk  small  groups  of  link-boys  gamed 
away  the  earnings  of  the  day  ;  or  one  more 
weary  than  the  rest,  gave  way  to  sleep, 
and  let  the  fragment  of  his  torch  fall  hiss- 
ing on  the  puddled  ground. 


BARNABY  RUDGE, 


75 


Then  there  was  the  watch  with  staff 
and  lanthorn  cryinor  the  hour,  and  the  kind 
of  weather;  and  those  who  woke  up  at 
his  voice  and  turned  them  round  in  bed, 
were  glad  to  hear  it  rained,  or  snowed,  or 
blew,  or  froze,  for  very  comfort's  sake. 
The  solitary  passeujjer  was  startled  by  the 
chairmen's  cry  of  "  By  your  leave  there !" 
as  two  came  trotting  past  him  with  their 
empty  vehicle — carried  backwards  to  show 
its  beingr  disennfaged  —  and  hurried  to  the 
nearest  stand.  Alany  a  private  chair  too, 
inclosino;  gome  fine  lady,  monstrously  hoop- 
ed and  furbelowed,  and  preceded  by  run- 
ning-footmen bearing  flambeau.x — for  which 
extinguishers  are  yet  suspended  before  the 
doors  of  a  few  houses  of  the  better  sort — 
made  the  way  gay  and  light  as  it  danced 
along,  and  darker  and  more  dismal  when 
it  had  passed.  It  was  not  unusual  for 
these  running  gentry,  who  carried  it  with 
a  very  hijh  hand,  to  quarrel  in  the  ser- 
vants' hall  while  waiting  for  their  masters 
and  mistresses  ;  and,  falling  to  blows  either 
there  or  in  the  street  without,  to  strew  the 
place  of  skirmish  with  hair-powder,  frag- 
ments of  bag-wigs,  and  scattered  nosegays. 
Gaming,  the  vice  which  ran  so  high  among 
all  classes  (the  fashion  beincf  of  course  set 
by  the  upper),  was  generally  the  cause  of 
these  disputes;  for  cards  and  dice  were  as 
openly  used,  and  worked  as  much  mischief, 
and  yielded  as  much  excitement  below 
stairs,  as  above.  While  incidents  like 
these,  arising  out  of  drums  and  masque- 
rades and  parties  at  quadrille,  were  passing 
at  the  west  end  of  the  town,  heavy  stage- 
coaches and  scarce  heavier  wagons  were 
lumbering  slowly  towards  the  city,  the 
coachmen,  guard,  and  passengers,  armed 
to  the  teeth,  and  the  coach  —  a  day  or  so, 
perhaps,  behind  its  time,  but  that  was  no- 
thing—  despoiled  by  highwaymen;  who 
made  no  scruple  to  attack,  alone  and  sin- 
gle-handed, a  whole  caravan  of  goods  and 
men,  and  sometimes  shot  a  passenger  or 
two  and  were  sometimes  shot  themselves, 
just  as  the  case  might  be.  On  the  mor- 
row, rumours  of  this  new  act  of  daring  on 
the  road  yielded  matter  for  a  few  hours' 
conversation  through  the  town,  and  a  Pub- 
lic Progress  of  some  fine  gentleman  (half 
drunk)  to  Tyburn,  dressed  in  the  newest 
fashion  and  damning  the  ordinary  with  un- 
speakable gallantry  and  grace,  furnished 
to  the  populace,  at  once  a  pleasant  excite- 
ment and  a  wholesome  and  profound  ex- 
ample. 

Among  all  the  dantrerous  characters, 
who,  in  such  a  state  of  society,  prowled 
and  skulked  in  the  metropolis  at  night, 
there  was  one  man,  from  whom  many  as 
uncouth  and  fierce  as  he,  shrunk  with  an 
involuntary  dread.  Who  he  was,  or  whence 


he  came,  was  a  question  often  asked,  but 
which  none  could  answer.  His  name  was 
unknown,  he  had  never  been  seen  until 
within  eight  days  or  thereabouts,  and  was 
equally  a  stranger  to  the  old  ruffians,  upon 
whose  haunts  he  ventured  fearlessly,  as  to 
the  young.  He  could  be  no  spy,  for  he 
never  removed  his  slouched  hat  to  look 
about  him,  entered  into  conversation  with 
no  man,  heeded  nothing  that  passed,  listen- 
ed to  no  discourse,  regarded  nobody  that 
came  or  went.  But  so  surely  as  the  dead 
of  night  set  in,  so  surely  this  man  was  in 
the  midst  of  the  loose  concourse  in  the 
night-cellar  where  outcasts  of  every  grade 
resorted;  and  there  he  sat  till  morning. 

He  was  not  only  a  spectre  at  their  licen- 
tious feasts;  a  something  in  the  midst  of 
their  revelry  and  riot  that  chilled  and 
haunted  them ;  but  out  of  doors  he  was 
the  same.  Directly  it  was  dark,  he  was 
abroad  —  never  in  company  with  any  one, 
but  always  alone;  never  lingering  or  loi- 
tering, but  always  walking  swiftly;  and 
looking  (so  they  said  who  had  seen  him) 
over  his  shoulder  from  time  to  time,  and  as 
he  did  so  quickening  -his  pace.  In  the 
fields,  the  lanes,  the  roads,  in  all  quarters 
of  the  town  —  east,  west,  north,  and  south 
—  that  man  was  seen  gliding  on,  like  a 
shadow.  He  was  always  hurrying  away. 
Those  who  encountered  him,  saw  him  steal 
past,  caught  sight  of  the  backward  glance, 
and  so  lost  him  in  the  darkness. 

This  constant  restlessness  and  flitting  to 
and  fro,  gave  rise  to  strange  stories.  He 
was  seen  in  such  distant  and  remote  places, 
at  times  so  nearly  tallying  with  each  other, 
that  some  doubted  whether  there  were  not 
two  of  them,  or  more — some,  whether  he 
had  not  unearthly  means  of  travelling  from 
spot  to  spot.  Tlie  footpad  hiding  in  a  ditch 
had  marked  him  passing  like  a  ghost  along 
its  brink  ;  the  vagrant  had  met  him  on  the 
dark  hi^h-road;  the  beggar  had  seen  him 
pause  upon  the  bridge  to  look  down  at  the 
water,  and  then  sweep  on  again;  they  who 
dealt  in  bodies  with  the  surgeons  could 
swear  he  slept  in  churchyards,  and  that 
they  had  beheld  him  glide  away  among  the 
tombs,  on  their  approach.  And  as  tiiey 
I  told  these  stories  to  each  other,  one  who 
had  looked  aliout  him  would  pull  his  neigh- 
bour by  the  sleeve,  and  there  he  would  be 
among  them. 

At  last,  one  man — he  was  of  those  whose 
commerce  lay  among  the  graves — resolved 
to  question  this  strange  companion.  Next 
ni^ht,  when  he  had  eat  his  poor  meal  vo- 
raciously (he  was  accustomed  to  do  that, 
they  had  observed,  as  though  he  had  no 
other  in  the  day),  this  fellow  sat  down  at 
his  elbow. 
1      "  A  black  night,  master  !" 


76 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


•'  It  is  a  black  nifi^ht." 

"  Blacker  than  last,  thoiitrh  that  was 
jiitchy  too.  Didn't  I  pass  you  near  the 
turnpike  in  the  Oxtbrd-road  1" 

"It's  like  you  may.     I  don't  know." 

"  Come,  come,  master,"  cried  the  fellow, 
uro-ed  on  by  the  looks  of  his  comrades,  and 
slapping:  him  on  the  shoulder ;  "  be  more 
companionable  and  communicative.  Be 
more  the  gentleman  in  this  good  company. 
There  are  tales  among  us  that  you  have 
sold  yourself  to  the  devil,  and  I  know  not 
what." 

"  We  all  have,  have  we  not?"  returned 
the  stranger,  looking  up.  "  If  we  were 
fewer  in  number,  perhaps  he  would  give 
better  wages." 

"  It  goes  rather  hard  with  you,  indeed," 
said  the  fellow,  as  the  stranger  disclosed 
his  haggard  unwashed  face,  and  torn  clothes. 
"  What  of  that  ?  Be  merry,  master.  A 
stave  of  a  roaring  song  now — " 

"  Sing  you,  if  you  desire  to  hear  one," 
replied  the  other,  shaking  him  roughly  off; 
"  and  don't  touch  me,  if  you  're  a  prudent 
man  ;  I  carry  arms  which  go  off  easily — 
they  have  done  so  before  now — and  make 
it  dangerous  for  strangers  who  don't  know 
the  trick  of  them,  to  lay  hands  upon  me." 

"  Do  you  threaten?"  said  the  fellow. 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  other,  rising  and 
turning  upon  him,  and  looking  fiercely 
round  as  if  in  apprehension  of  a  general 
attack. 

His  voice,  and  look,  and  bearing — all  ex- 
pressive of  the  wildest  recklessness  and 
desperation — daunted  while  they  repelled 
the  bystanders.  Although  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent sphere  of  action  now,  they  were  not 
without  much  of  the  effect  they  had  wrought 
at  the  Maypole  Inn. 

"  I  am  what  you  all  are,  and  live  as  you 
all  do,"  said  the  man,  sternly,  after  a  short 
silence.  "1  am  in  billing  here  like  the 
rest,  and  if  we  were  surprised,  would  per- 
haps do  my  part  with  the  best  of  ye.  If 
it's  my  humour  to  be  left  to  myself,  let  me 
have  it.  Otherwise" — and  here  he  swore  a 
tremendous  oath  —  "there'll  be  miscliief 
done  in  this  place,  though  there  are  odds  of 
a  score  against  me." 

A  low  murmur,  having  its  origin  perhaps 
Jn  a  dread  of  the  man  and  the  mystery  that 
Biirrounded  him,  or  perhaps  in  a  sincere 
opinion  on  the  part  of  some  of  those  pre- 
sent, that  it  would  be  an  inconvenient  pre- 
cefient  to  meddle  too  curiously  with  a  gen- 
tleman's private  affairs,  if  he  saw  reason 
lo  conceal  them,  warned  thu  fellow  who 


had  occasioned  this  discussion  that  he  had 
best  pursue  it  no  further.  After  a  short 
time,  the  strange  man  lay  down  upon  a 
bench  to  sleep,  and  when  they  thought  of 
him  again,  they  found  that  he  was  gone. 

Next  night,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  ho 
was  abroad  acjain  and  traversing  the  streets ; 
he  was  before  the  locksmith's  house  more 
than  once,  but  the  family  were  out,  and  it 
was  close  shut.  This  night  he  crossed 
London  bridge  and  passed  into  Southwark. 
As  he  glided  down  a  bye  street,  a  woman 
with  a  little  basket  on  her  arm,  turned  into 
it  at  the  other  end.  Directly  he  observed 
her,  he  sought  the  shelter  of  an  archway, 
and  stood  aside  until  she  had  passed.  Then 
he  emerged  cautiously  from  his  hiding- 
place,  and  followed. 

She  went  into  several  shops  to  purcha.se 
various  kinds  of  household  necessaries,  and 
round  every  place  at  which  she  stopped  he 
hovered  like  her  evil  spirit;  following  her 
when  she  reappeared.  It  was  nigh  eleven 
o'clock,  and  the  passengers  in  the  streets 
were  thinning  fast,  when  she  turned,  doubt- 
less to  go  home.  The  phantom  still  follow 
ed  her. 

She  turned  into  the  same  bye  street  in 
which  he  had  seen  her  first,  which,  being 
free  from  shops,  and  narrow,  was  extremely 
dark.  She  quickened  her  pace  here,  as 
though  distrustful  of  being  stopped,  and 
robbed  of  such  trifling  property  as  she  car- 
ried with  her.  He  crept  along  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road.  Had  she  been  gifled 
with  the  speed  of  wind,  it  seemed  as  if  his 
terrible  shadow  would  have  tracked  her 
down. 

At  length  the  widow — for  she  it  wa.s— 
reached  her  own  door,  and,  panting  foi 
breath,  paused  to  take  the  key  from  her 
basket.  In  a  flush  and  glow,  with  the 
haste  she  had  made,  and  the  pleasure  of 
being  safe  at  home,  she  stooped  to  draw  it 
out,  when,  raising  her  head,  she  saw  him 
standing  silently  beside  her;  the  apparition 
of  a  dream. 

His  hand  was  on  her  mouth,  but  that 
was  needless,  for  her  tongue  clove  to  its 
roof,  and  the  power  of  utterance  was  gone. 
"  I  have  been  looking  for  you  many  nights. 
Is  the  house  empty  !  Answer  me.  Is  any 
one  inside?" 

She  could  only  answer  by  a  rattle  in  her 
throat. 

"  Make  nie  a  sign." 

She  seemed  to  indicate  that  there  was 
no  one  there.  He  took  the  key,  unlocked 
the  door,  carried  her  in,  and  secured  iX 
carefully  behind  them. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


77 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTEENTH. 


It  was  a  chilly  night,  and  the  fire  in  the 
widow's  parlour  had  burnt  low.  Her 
itranwe  companion  placed  her  in  a  chair, 
^ttnd  stooping  down  before  the  half-extin- 
'puished  ashes,  raked  them  toorether  and 
fanned  them  with  his  hat.  From  time  to 
time  he  glanced  at  her  over  his  shoulder, 
Ls  though  to  assure  himself  of  her  remain- 
ing quiet  and  making  no  eflbrt  to  depart ; 
and  that  done,  busied  himself  about  the 
fire  again. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  he  took 
these  pains,  for  his  dress  was  dank  and 
drenched  with  wet,  his  jaws  rattled  with 
cold,  and  he  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 
It  had  rained  hard  during  the  previous 
night  and  tor  some  hours  in  the  morning, 
but  since  noon  it  had  been  fine.  Where- 
soever he  had  passed  the  hours  of  dark- 
ness, his  condition  sufficiently  betokened 
that  many  of  them  had  been  spent  beneath 
the  open  sky.  Besmeared  with  mire;  his 
saturated  clothes  clinging  with  a  damp 
embrace  about  his  limbs;  his  beard  un- 
shaven, his  face  unwashed,  his  meagre 
cheeks  worn  into  deep  hollows,  —  a  more 
miserable  wretch  could  hardly  be,  than 
this  man  who  now  cowered  down  upon  the 
widow's  hearth,  and  watched  the  strug- 
gling flame  with  bloodshot  eyes. 

She  had  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  fearing,  as  it  seemed,  to  look  to- 
wards him.  So  they  remained  for  some 
short  time  in  silence.  Glancing  round 
again,  he  asked  at  length  : 

"  Is  this  your  house  !" 

"  It  is.  Why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
do  you  darken  it !" 

"  Give  me  meat  and  drink,"  he  answer- 
ed sullenly,  "  or  I  dare  do  more  than  that. 
The  very  marrow  in  my  bones  is  cold,  with 
wet  and  hunger.  1  must  have  warmth 
and  food,  and  I  will  have  them  here." 

"  You  were  the  robber  on  the  Chigwell 
road." 

"  I  was." 

"  And  nearly  a  murderer  then." 

"The  will  was  not  wanting.  There 
was  one  came  upon  me  and  raised  the  hue- 
and-cry,  that  it  would  have  gone  hard  with, 
but  tor  his  nimbleness,  1  made  a  thrust 
at  him." 

"  You  thrust  your  sword  at  him .'"  cried 
the  widow.     "  Oh  God,  you  hear  this  man  !  j 
fou  hear  and  saw  !" 

He  looked   at  her,  as,  with   her  head  I 
.hrown  back,  and  her  hands  tig-ht  clenched  \ 
together,  she  uttered   these  words  in  an 
tgony  of  appeal.     Then,  starting  to  his  i 


foet  as  she  had  done,  he  advanced  towards 
her. 

"  Beware !"  she  cried  in  a  suppressed 
voice,  whose  firmness  stopped  him  midway. 
"  Do  not  so  much  as  touch  me  with  a 
finger,  or  you  are  lost ;  body  and  soul,  you 
are  lost." 

"Hear  me,"  he  replied,  menacing  her 
with  his  hand.  "  I,  that  in  the  form  of  a 
man  live  the  life  of  a  hunted  beast ;  that 
in  the  body  am  a  spirit,  a  ghost  upon  the 
earth,  a  thing  from  which  all  creatures 
shrink,  save  those  curst  beings  of  another 
world,  who  will  not  leave  me;  —  I  am,  in 
my  desperation  of  this  night,  past  all  fear 
but  that  of  the  hell  in  which  1  exist  from 
day  to  day.  Give  the  alarm,  cry  out,  re- 
fuse to  shelter  me.  I  will  not  hurt  you. 
But  I  will  not  be  taken  alive;  and  so  sure- 
ly as  you  threaten  me  above  your  breath,  I 
fall  a  dead  man  on  this  floor.  The  blood 
with  which  I  sprinkle  it,  be  on  you  and 
yours,  in  the  name  of  the  Evil  Spirit  that 
tempts  men  to  their  ruin  !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  a  pistol  from  hia 
breast,  and  firmly  clutched  it  in  his  hand. 

"Remove  this  man  from  me,  good  Hea- 
ven !"  cried  the  widow.  "  In  thy  grace 
and  mercy,  give  him  one  minute's  peni- 
tence, and  strike  him  dead  !" 

"  It  has  no  such  purpose,"  he  said,  con- 
fronting her.  "It  is  deaf.  Give  me  to 
eat  and  drink,  lest  I  do  that,  it  cannot  help 
my  doing,  and  will  not  do  for  you." 

"Will  you  leave  me,  if  I  do  thus  much? 
Will  you  leave  me  and  return  no  more  .'" 

"  I  will  promise  nothing,"  he  rejoined, 
.seating  himself  at  the  table,  "  nothing  but 
this  —  I  will  execute  my  threat  if  you  be- 
tray me." 

She  rose  at  length,  and  going  to  a  closet 
or  pantry  in  the  room,  brought  out  some 
fragments  of  cold  meat  and  bread  and  put 
them  on  the  table.  He  asked  tor  brandy, 
and  for  water.  These  she  produced  like- 
wise; and  he  ate  and  drank  with  the 
voracity  of  a  famished  hound.  All  the 
time  he  was  so  engaged  she  kept  at  the 
uttermost  distance  of  the  chamber,  and  sat 
there  shuddering,  but  with  her  face  to- 
wards him.  She  never  turned  her  back 
upon  him  once;  and  although  when  sh« 
pas.-sed  him  (as  she  was  obliged  to  do  ni 
going  to  and  from  the  cupboard)  she  gathei- 
ed  the  skirts  of  her  garment  about  her,  as 
if  even  its  touching  his  by  chance  wore* 
horrible  to  think  of,  still,  in  the  midst  of  all 
this  dread  and  terror,  she   JiC|.t   her  face 


78 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


directed  to  his  own,  and  watched  his  every 
movement. 

His  repast  ended — if  that  can  be  called 
one,  which  was  a  mere  ravenous  satistyinfif 
of  the  calls  of  hunger — he  moved  his  chair 
towards  the  fire  again,  and  warming  him- 
self before  the  blaze  which  had  now  sprung 
brightly  up,  accosted  her  once  more. 

"  I  am  an  outcast,  to  whom  a  roof  above 
his  head  is  often  an  uncommon  luxury,  and 
the  food  a  beggar  would  reject  is  delicate 
fare.  You  live  here  at  your  ease.  Do  you 
live  alone !" 

"I  do  not,"  she  made  answer  with  an 
effort 

"  Who  dwells  here  besides?" 

"One  —  it  is  no  matter  who.  You  had 
best  begone,  or  he  may  find  you  here. 
AVhy  do  you  linger  1" 

"For  warmth,"  he  replied,  spreading 
out  his  hands  befijre  the  fire.  "  For  warmth. 
You  are  rich,  perhaps"!" 

"Very,"  she  said  faintly.  "Very  rich. 
No  doubt  I  am  very  rich." 

"  At  least  you  are  not  penniless.  You 
have  some  money.  You  were  making 
purchases  to-night." 

"I  have  a  little  lefl.  It  is  but  a  few 
shillings." 

"Give  me  your  purse.  You  had  it  in 
your  hand  at  the  door.     Give  it  to  me." 

She  stepped  to  the  table  and  laid  it  down. 
He  reached  across,  took  it  up,  and  told  the 
contents  into  his  hand.  As  he  was  count- 
ing them,  she  listened  for  a  moment,  and 
sprung  towards  him. 

"Take  what  there  is,  take  all,  take 
more  if  more  were  there,  but  go  before  it 
is  too  late.  I  have  heard  a  wayward  step 
without,  I  know  full  well.  It  will  return 
directly.     Begone." 

"  What  do  you  mean  V 

"  Do  not  stop  to  ask.  I  will  not  answer. 
Much  as  I  dread  to  touch  you,  I  would 
drag  you  to  the  door  if  I  possessed  the 
strength,  rather  than  you  should  lose  an 
instant.  Miserable  wretch !  fly  from  this 
place." 

"  If  there  are  spies  without,  I  am  safer 
here,"  replied  the  man,  standing  aghast. 
"I  will  remain  here,  and  will  not  fly  till 
the  danger  is  past." 

"It  is  too  late!"  cried  the  widow,  who 
tiad  list(>ncd  for  the  step,  and  not  to  him. 
"Hark  to  that  foot  upon  the  ground.  Do 
you  tremble  to  hear  it !  It  is  my  son,  my 
idiot  son !" 

As  ^he  said  this  wildly,  there  came  a 
heavy  knocking  at  the  door.  He  looked  at 
.Mer,  and  she  at  him. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  the  man,  hoarse- 
ly. "  I  fear  him  less  than  the  dark,  house- 
ess  nitfht.  He  knocks  again.  Let  him 
cnuie  in !" 


"  The  dread  of  this  hour,"  returned  the 
widow,  "  has  been  upon  mo  all  my  life,  and 
I  will  not.  Evil  will  fall  upon  him,  if  you 
stand  eye  to  eye.  My  bliglit(>d  boy  !  Oh  ! 
all  good  angels  who  know  the  truth — hear 
a  poor  mother's  prayer,  and  spare  my  boy 
from  knowledge  of  this  man  !" 

"He  rattles  at  the  shutters !"  cried  the 
man.  "He  calls  you.  That  voice  and 
cry  !  It  was  he  who  grappled  with  me  in 
the  road.     Was  it  he  !" 

She  had  sunk  upon  her  knees,  and  so 
knelt  down,  moving  her  lips,  but  uttering 
no  sound.  As  he  gazed  upon  her,  uncer- 
tain what  to  do  or  where  to  turn,  the  shut- 
ters flew  open.  He  had  barely  time  to 
catch  a  knife  from  the  table,  sheathe  it  in 
the  loose  sleeve  of  his  coat,  hide  in  the 
closet,  and  do  all  with  the  lightning's  speed, 
when  Barnaby  tapped  at  the  bare  glass, 
and  raised  the  sash  exultingly. 

"  Why,  who  can  keep  out  Grip  and  me  !" 
he  cried,  thrusting  in  his  head,  and  staring 
round  the  room.  "Are  you  there,  mother? 
How  long  you  keep  us  from  the  fire  and 
light!" 

She  stammered  some  excuse  and  tender- 
ed him  her  hand.  But  Barnaby  sprung 
lightly  in  without  assistance,  and  putting 
his  arms  about  her  neck,  kissed  her  a  hun- 
dred times. 

"  We  have  been  afield,  mother — leaping 
ditches,  scrambling  through  hedges,  run- 
ning down  steep  banks,  up  and  iway,  and 
hurrying  on.  The  wind  has  been  blowing, 
and  the  rushes  and  young  plants  bowing 
and  bending  to  it,  lest  it  should  do  them 
harm,  the  cowards  —  and  Grip  —  ha  ha  ha! 
—  brave  Grip,  who  cares  for  nothing,  and 
when  the  wind  rolls  him  over  in  the  dust, 
turns  manfully  to  bite  it  —  Grip,  bold  Grip, 
has  quarrelled  with  every  little  bowing 
twig — thinking,  he  told  me,  that  it  mocked 
him  —  and  has  worried  it  like  a  bull-dog. 
Ha  ha  ha!" 

The  raven,  in  his  little  basket  at  his 
master's  back,  hearing  this  frequent  men- 
tion of  his  name  in  a  tone  of  exultation, 
expressed  his  sympathy  by  crowing  like  a 
cock,  and  afterw-ards  running  over  his  va 
rious  phrases  of  speech  with  such  rapidity, 
and  in  so  many  varieties  of  hoarseness, 
that  they  sounded  like  the  murmurs  of  a 
crowd  of  people. 

"  [le  takes  such  care  of  me  besides!" 
said  Barnaby.  "  Such  care,  mother !  He 
watches  all  the  time  I  sleep,  and  when  I 
shut  my  eyes,  and  make-believe  to  slumber, 
he  practises  new  learning  softly  ;  but  he 
keeps  his  eye  on  me  the  while,  and  if  he 
sees  me  laugh,  though  never  so  little,  stops 
directly.  He  won't  surprise  me  till  he 'u 
perfect." 

The  raven  crowed  again  in  a  rapturous 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


79 


-Hik^' 


manner  which  plainly  said,  "Those  are 
certainly  some  of  my  characteristics,  and  I 
pjory  in  them."  In  the  meantime  Barnaby 
closed  the  window  and  secured  it,  and 
coming  to  the  fire-place,  prepared  to  sit 
down  with  his  face  to  the  closet.  But  his 
mother  prevented  this,  by  hastily  taking 
that  side  herself,  and  motioning  him  to- 
wards the  other. 

"  IIow  pale  you  are  to-night !"  said  Bar- 
naby,  leaning  on  his  stick.  "  We  have 
been  cruel.  Grip,  and  made  her  anxious!" 

Anxious  in  good  truth,  and  sick  at  heart! 
The  listener  held  the  door  of  his  hiding- 
place  open  with  his  hand,  and  closely 
watched  her  son.  Grip  —  alive  to  every- 
thing his  master  was  unconscious  of —  had 
his  head  out  of  the  basket,  and  in  return 
was  watching  him  intently  with  his  glis- 
tening eye. 

"  He  flaps  his  wings,"  said  Barnaby, 
turning  aliHost  quickly  enough  to  catch  the 
retreating  form  and  closing  door,  "  as  if 
there  were  strangers  here,  but  Grip  is 
wiser  than  to  fancy  that.     Jump  then  !" 

Accepting  this  invitation  with  a  dignity 
peculiar  to  himself,  the  bird  hopped  upon 
his  master's  shoulder,  from  that  to  his  ex- 
tended hand,  and  so  to  the  ground.  Bar- 
naby unstrapping  the  basket  and  putting  it 
down  in  a  corner  with  the  lid  open.  Grip's 
first  care  was  to  shut  it  down  with  all  pos- 
sible despatch,  and  then  to  stand  upon  it. 
Believing,  no  doubc,  that  he  had  now  ren- 


dered it  utterly  impossible,  and  beyond  the 
power  of  mortal  man,  to  shut  him  up  in  it 
any  more,  he  drew  a  great  many  corks  in 
triumph,  and  uttered  a  corresponding  num- 
ber of  hurrahs. 

"  Mother !"  said  Barnaby,  laying  aside 
his  hat  and  stick,  and  returning  to  the 
chair  from  which  he  had  risen,  "I'll  tell 
you  where  we  have  been  to-day,  and  what 
we  have  been  doing, — shall  I  !" 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  holding 
it,  nodded  the  word  she  could  not  speak. 

"  You  mustn't  tell,"  said  Barnaby,  hold- 
ing up  his  finger,  "  tor  it's  a  secret,  mind, 
and  only  known  to  me,  and  Grip,  and  Hugh. 
VVe  had  the  dog  with  us,  but  he's  not  like 
Grip,  clever  as  he  is,  and  doesn't  guess  it 
yet,  I'll  wager. — Why  do  you  look  behind 
me  so]" 

"  Did  I  ?"  she  answered,  faintly.  "I  didn't 
know  I  did.     Come  nearer  me." 

"  You  are  frightened  !"  said  Barnaby, 
changing  colour.  "Mother  —  you  don't 
see — " 

"See  what?" 

"There's — there's  none  of  this  about, 
is  there?"  he  answered  in  a  whisper,  draw- 
ing closer  to  her  and  clasping  the  mark 
upon  his  wrist.  "  I  am  afraid  there  is, 
somewhere.  You  make  my  hair  stand  on 
end,  and  my  flesh  creep.  Why  do  you 
;  look  like  that  ?  Is  it  in  the  room  as  I  havt? 
'  seen  it  in  my  dreams,  dashing  the  ceilin^T 
.  and  the  walls  with  red  .'     Tell  me.     Lsit" 


80 


BAR  NAB  Y    RUDGE. 


He  fell  into  a  shivering;  fit  as  he  put  tlie 
question,  and  shutting  out  tlio  light  with 
his  hands,  sat  shaking  in  every  limb  until 
it  had  passed  away.  After  a  time,  he 
raised  his  head  and  looked  about  him. 

"  Is  it  gone  !" 

"There  has  beon  nothing  here,"  rejoin- 
ed his  mother,  soothing  him.  "Nothing 
indeed,  dear  Burnahy.  Look !  You  see 
there  are  but  you  and  me." 

He  gazed  at  her  vacantly,  and,  becom- 
ing reassured  by  degrees,  burst  into  a  wild 
laugh. 

"  But  let  us  see,"  he  said,  thoughtfully, 
"  Were  we  talking?  Was  it  you  and  me  .' 
Where  have  we  been  1 

"  Nowhere  but  here." 

"  Ay,  but  Hugh,  and  I,"  said  Barnaby, 
" — that's  it.  Maypole  Hugh,  and  I,  you 
know,  and  Grip  —  we  have  been  lying  in 
the  forest,  and  among  the  trees  by  the  road 
side,  with  a  dark-lanthorn  after  night  came 
on,  and  the  dog  in  a  noose  ready  to  slip  him 
when  the  man  came  by." 

"  What  man  ]" 

"The  robber;  him  that  the  stars  winked 
at.  We  have  waited  for  him  after  dark 
these  many  nights,  and  we  shall  have  him. 
I'd  know  him  in  a  thousand.  Mother,  see 
here  !     This  is  the  man.     Look  !" 

He  twisted  his  handkerchief  round  his 
head,  pulled  his  hat  upon  his  brow,  wrap- 
ped his  coat  about  him,  and  stood  up  before 
her:  so  like  the  original  he  counterfeited, 
that  the  dark  figure  peering  out  behind 
him  might  have  passed  for  his  own  shadow. 

"  Ha  ha  ha !  We  shall  have  him,"  he 
cried,  ridding  himself  of  the  semblance  as 
hastily  as  he  had  assumed  it.  "  You  shall 
see  him,  mother,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and 
brought  to  London  at  a  saddle-girth;  and 
you  shall  hear  of  him  at  Tyburn  Tree  if 
we  have  Iuck.  So  Hugh  says.  You  're 
pale  again,  and  trembling.  And  why  do 
you  look  behind  me  so  ?" 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  answered.  "I  am 
not  quite  well.  Go  you  to  bed,  dear,  and 
leave  me  here." 

"To  bed  !"  he  answered.  "I  don't  like 
bed.  I  like  to  lie  before  the  fire,  watching 
the  prospects  in  the  burning  coals — the  ri- 
vers, hills,  and  dells,  in  the  deep,  red  sun- 
set, and  the  wild  faces.  I  am  iiungry  too, 
and  Grip  has  eaten  nothing  since  broad 
noon.  Let  us  to  supper.  Grip !  To  sup- 
per, lad !" 

The  raven  flapped  his  wings,  and,  croak- 
ing his  satisfaction,  hopped  to  the  feet  of 
his  master,  and  there  held  his  bill  open, 
ready  for  snapping  up  such  lumps  of  meat 
as  he  should  throw  him.  Of  these  he  re- 
ceived about  a  score  in  rapid  succession, 
without  the  smallest  discomposure. 

"That's  all."  said  Barnaby. 


"  More  :"  cried  Grip.     "  More  !" 

But  it  appearing  for  a  certainty  thai  no 
more  was  to  be  had,  he  retreated  with  his 
store;  and  disgorging  the  mor.sels  one  by 
one  from  his  poucli,  hid  tht*m  in  various 
corners — taking  particular  care,  however, 
to  avoid  the  closet,  as  being  doubtful  of  the 
hidden  man's  propensities  and  power  of  re- 
sisting temptation.  When  he  had  concluded 
these  arrangements,  he  took  a  turn  or  two 
across  the  room,  with  an  elaborate  assump- 
tion of  having  nothmg  on  his  mind  (but 
with  one  eye  hard  upon  his  treasure  all  the 
time),  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  began  to 
drag  it  out,  piece  by  piece,  and  eat  it  with 
the  utmost  relish. 

Barnaby,  tor  his  part,  having  pressed  his 

mother  to  eat,  in  vain,  made  a  In  arty  sup- 

i  per  too.     Once,  during  the  pmgmss  of  his 

meal,  he  wanted  more  bread  from  the  closet 

I  and  rose  to  get  it.     She   hurriedly  inter- 

I  posed  to  prevent  him,  and,  summoning  her 

utmost  fortitude,  passed  into  the  recess,  and 

brought  it  out  herself 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  looking  at  her 
I  steadfastly  as  she  sat  down  beside  him  after 
doing  so;  "is  to-day  iny  birthday  !" 

"  To-day  !"  she  answered.  "  Don't  you 
recollect  it  was  but  a  week  or  so  ago,  and 
that  summer,  autumn,  and  winter,  have  to 
pass  before  it  comes  again  1" 

"  I  remember  that  it  has  been  so  till 
now,"  said  Barnaby.  "But  I  think  to-day 
must  be  my  birthday  too,  for  all  that." 

She  asked  him  why?  "I'll  tell  you 
why,"  he  said.  "  I  have  always  seen  jou 
— I  didn't  let  you  know  it,  but  I  have — on 
the  evening  of  that  day  grow  very  sad.  I 
have  seen  you  cry  when  Grip  and  I  were 
most  glald ;  and  look  frightened  with  no 
reason;  and  I  have  touched  your  hand,  and 
felt  that  it  was  cold — as  it  is  now.  Once, 
mother,  (on  a  birthday  that  was,  also,)  Grip 
and  1  thought  of  this  after  we  went  up 
stairs  to  bed,  and  when  it  was  midnight — 
striking  one  o'clock  —  we  came  down  to 
your  door  to  see  if  you  were  well.  You 
were  on  your  knees.  1  forget  what  it  was 
you  said.  Grip,  what  was  it  we  heard  her 
say  that  night!" 

"I'm  a  devil!"  rejoined  the  raven 
promptly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Barnaby.  "  But  you  said 
something  in  a  prayer;  and  when  you  rose 
and  walked  about,  you  looked  (as  you  have 
done  ever  since,  mother,  towards  night  on 
my  birthday)  just  as  you  do  now.  1  have 
fiiund  that  out,  you  see,  though  I  am  silly. 
So  I  say  you  're  wrong;  and  this  must  be 
my  birthday — my  birthday,  Grip!" 

The  bird  received  this  infiirmation  with 
a  crow  of  such  duration  as  a  cock,  gifted 
with  intelligence  beyond  all  others  of  his 
kind,  might  usher  in  the  longest  day  with. 


I' 


sipum"  ^'/'j''^s 


^NlSJ^ 


3//^^  rJ/zu/.y^^M  ,u'/./-/^^-w/tm^  .^^4^/;?^^^^/^;?^/^  /^^  M/r'U^J C^^t^^  ■ 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


SI 


Then,  as  if  he  had  well  considered  the 
eentimont,  and  reijarded  it  as  apposite  to 
birthdays,  he  cried,  "Never  say  die!"  a 
great  many  times,  and  flapped  his  wings 
for  emphasis. 

The  widow  tried  to  make  light  of  Bar- 
naby's  remark,  and  endeavoured  to  divert 
his  attention  to  some  new  subject  —  too 
easy  a  ta.-k  at  all  times,  as  she  knew. 
His  supper  done,  Bnrnaby,  regardless  of 
her  entreaties,  stretchod  liimself  on  the 
mat  before  the  fire  —  Grip  perched  upon 
his  leg,  and  divided  ins  tune  between 
dozing  in  the  grateful  warmth,  and  en- 
deavouring (as  it  presently  appeared)  to 
recal  a  new  accomplishment  he  had  been 
studying  all  day. 

A  long  and  profound  silence  ensued, 
broken  oidy  by  some  chanije  of  position 
on  the  part  of  Barnaby,  whose  eyes  were 
still  wide  open  and  intently  fixed  upon  the 
fire;  or  by  an  effort  of  recollection  on  the 
part  of  Grip,  who  would  cry  in  a  low  voice 
from  time  to  time,  "Polly  put  the  ket — " 
and  there  stop  short,  forgetting  tlie  re- 
mainder, and  go  off  in  a  doze  again. 

After  a  long  interval,  Barnaby's  breath- 
ing grew  more  deep  and  regular,  and 
his  eyes  were  closed.  But  even  then  the 
unquiet  spirit  of  the  raven  interposed. 
"Polly  put  the  ket — "  cried  Grip,  and  his 
master  w^is  broad  awake  agnin. 

At  length  he  slept  soundly;  and  the 
bird  with  his  bill  sunk  upon  his  breast,  his 
breast  itself  puffed  out  into  a  comfortable 
alderman-like  form,  and  his  britrht  eye 
growing  smaller  and  smaller,  really  seem- 
ed to  be  subsiding  into  a  state  of  repose. 
Now  and  then  he  muttered  in  a  sepulchral 
voice,  "Polly  put  the  ket — "  but  very 
drowsily,  and  more  like  a  drunken  man 
than  a  reflecting  raven. 

The  widow,  scarcely  venturing  to 
breathe,  rose  from  her  seat.  The  man 
glided  from  the  closet,  and  extmguished 
the  candle. 

" — tie  on,"  cried  Grip,  suddenly  struck 
with  an  idea  and  very  much  excited. 
" — tie  on.  Hurrah!  Polly  put  the  ket- 
tle on,  we  '11  all  have  tea ;  Polly  put  the 
ket-tle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea.  Hurrah, 
hurrah,  hurrah  !  I  'm  a  devil,  I  'm  a  devil, 
I  'm  a  ket-tle  on,  Keep  up  your  spirits. 
Never  say  die,  Bow  wow  wow,  I  'rn  a 
devil,  I  'm  a  ket-tle,  I  'm  a —  Polly  put  the 
ke1-t!e  on,  we  '11  all  have  tea." 

They  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  as 
though  it  had  been  a  voice  from  the  grave. 

But  even  this  failed  to  awaken  the 
sleeper.  He  turned  over  towards  the  fire, 
his  arm  fell  to  the  ground,  and  his  head 
drooped  heavilv  upon  it.     The  widow  and 


her  unwelcome  visiter  gazed  at  him  &ii^ 
at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and  then  she 
motioned  him  towards  the  door. 

"  Stay,"  he  whispered,  "  You  teach 
your  son  well." 

"  1  have  taught  him  nothing  that  you 
heard  to-night.  Depart  instantly,  or  1  will 
rouse  him." 

"  You  are  free  to  do  so.  Shall  /  rouse 
him  V 

"  You  dare  not  do  that." 

"  1  dare  do  anything,  I  have  told  you. 
He  knows  me  well,  it  seems.  At  least  I 
will  know  him." 

"Would  you  kill  him  in  his  sleep]" 
cried  the  widow,  throwing  herself  between 
them. 

"  Woman,"  he  returned  between  his 
teeth,  as  he  motioned  her  aside,  "  I  would 
see  him  nearer,  and  I  will.  If  you  want 
one  of  us  to  kill  the  otlici,  wake  him." 

With  that  he  advanced,  and  bending 
down  over  the  prostrate  form,  softly  turned 
back  the  head  and  looked  into  the  face. 
The  light  of  the  Are  was  upon  it,  and  its 
every  lineament  was  revealed  distinctly. 
He  contemplated  it  for  a  brief  space,  and 
hastily  uprose. 

"  Observe,"  he  whispered  in  the  widow's 
ear:  "In  iiim,  of  whose  existence  1   was 
ignorant  until  to-niirht,  I  have  you  in  my 
power.     Be  careful  liow  you  use  me.     Be 
careful  how  you  use  me.     1  am  destitute 
j  and    starving,  and   a  wanderer    upon    the 
earth.     I  may  take   a  sure  and  slow  re- 
venge." 
I      "There   is   some   dreadful    meaning   in 
j  your  words,     I  do  not  fathom  it." 

"  There  is  a  meaning  in  them,  and  I  see 
I  you  fathom  it  to  its  very  depth.     You  have 
I  anticipated  it  for  years;  you  have  told  me 
'  as   much.     ]  leave  you  to  digest  it.     Do 
not  forget  my  warning." 
I      He  pointed,  as  he  left  her,  to  the  slum- 
bering form,  and  stealthily  withdrawino-, 
made  his  way  into  the  street.     She  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  the  sleeper,  and  remained 
like  one  stricken  into  stone,  until  the  tears 
which  fear  had  frozen  so  long,  came  ten- 
derly to  her  relief 
t      "  Oh  Thou,"  she  cried,  "  who  hast  taught 
me  such  deep  love  for  this  one  remnant  of 
the  promise  of  a  happy  life,  out  of  whose 
affliction,  even,  perhaps  the  comfort  spriiii;s 
that  he  is  ever  a  relying,  loving  child  to 
rue  —  never  growing  old  or  cold  at  heart, 
hut  needing  my  care  and  duty  in  his  man- 
ly  strenrrth  as    in   his  cradle-time  —  help 
him.  in  his  darkened  walk  through  this  sad 
world,  or  he  is  doomed,  and  my  poor  he.-trt 
is  broken  !" 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE   EIGHTEENTH. 


GiiiDlNG  alon^  tnn  silent  streets,  and 
holding  liis  course  where  they  were  dark- 
est and  most  ^flooiny,  the  man  who  had 
left  the  widow's  house  crossed  London 
Bridge,  and  arrivinjr  in  the  City,  plunged 
into  the  back  ways,  lanes,  and  courts,  be- 
tween Cornhill  and  Smithfield ;  with  no 
more  fixedness  of  purpose  than  to  lose  him- 
self among  their  windings,  and  baffle  pur- 
suit, if  any  one  were  dogging  his  steps. 

It  was  the  dead  time  of  the  night,  and 
all  was  quiet.  Now  and  then  a  drowsy 
watchman's  footsteps  sounded  on  the  pave- 
ment, or  the  lamp-lighter  on  liis  rounds 
went  flashing  past,  leaving  behind  a  little 
track  of  smoke  mingled  with  glowing 
morsels  of  his  hot  red  link.  He  hid  him- 
self even  from  these  partakers  of  his  lonely 
walk,  and,  shrinking  in  some  arch  or  door- 
way while  they  passed,  issued  forth  again 
when  they  were  gone  and  so  pursued  his 
solitary  way. 

To  be  shelterless  and  alone  in  the  open 
country,  hearing  the  wind  moan  and  watch- 
ing for  day  through  the  whole  long  weary 
night;  to  listen  to  the  falling  rain,  and 
crouch  for  warmth  beneath  the  lee  of  some 
old  barn  or  rick,  or  in  the  hollow  of  a  tree; 
are  dismal  things — but  not  so  dismal  as  the 
wandering  up  and  down  where  shelter  is, 
and  beds  and  sleepers  are  by  thousands ;  a 
houseless  rejected  creature.  To  pace  the 
echoing  stones  from  hour  to  hour,  counting 
the  dull  chimes  of  the  clocks;  to  watch 
the  lights  twinkling  in  chamber  windows, 
to  think  what  happy  forgetfulness  each 
house  shuts  in  ;  that  here  are  children  coil- 
ed together  in  their  beds,  here  youth,  here 
age,  here  poverty,  here  wealth,  all  equal  in 
their  sleep,  and  all  at  rest;  to  have  nothing 
in  common  with  the  slumbering  world 
around,  not  even  sleep,  Heaven's  gift  to  all 
its  creatures,  and  be  akin  to  nothing  but 
despair;  to  feel  by  the  wretched  contrast 
with  everything  on  every  hand,  more  ut- 
terly alone  and  cast  away  than  in  a  track- 
less desert; — this  is  a  kind  of  suffering,  on 
which  the  rivers  of  great  cities  close  full 
many  a  time,  and  which  the  solitude  in 
ciowds  alone  awakens. 

The  miserable  man  paced  up  and  down 
thp  streets — so  long,  so  wearisome,  so  like 
eacn  other  —  and  often  cast  a  wistful  look 
toward^  thf  east,  hoping  to  see  the  first 
famt  streaks  of  day.  But  obdurate  night 
had  yet  possession  of  the  sky,  and  his  dis- 
turbed and  restless  walk  found  no  relief. 


One  house  in  a  hack  street  was  bright 
with  the  cheerful  glare  of  lights;  there  waa 
the  sound  of  music  in  it  too,  and  the  tread 
of  dancers,  and  there  were  cheerful  voices, 
and  many  a  burst  of  laughter.  To  ihia 
place — to  be  near  something  that  was 
awake  and  glad  —  he  returned  again  and 
again ;  and  more  than  one  of  those  who 
left  it  when  the  merriment  was  at  its 
height,  felt  it  a  check  upon  tht>ir  mirthful 
mood  to  see  him  flitting  to  and  fro  like  an 
uneasy  ghost.  At  last  tiie  guests  departed, 
one  and  all ;  and  then  the  house  was  close 
shut  up,  and  became  as  dull  and  silent  as 
the  rest. 

His  wanderings  brought  him  at  one  time 
to  the  city  jail.  Instead  of  hastening  from 
it  as  a  place  of  ill  omen,  and  one  he  had 
cause  to  shun,  he  sat  down  on  some  steps 
hard  by,  and  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hand, 
gazed  upon  its  rough  and  frowning  walla 
as  though  even  they  became  a  refuge  in 
his  jaded  eyes.  He  paced  it  round  and 
round,  came  back  to  the  same  spot,  and  sat 
down  again.  He  did  this  often,  and  once, 
with  a  hasty  movement,  crossed  to  where 
some  men  were  watching  in  the  prison 
lodge,  and  had  his  foot  upon  the  steps  as 
though  determined  to  accost  them.  But 
looking  round,  he  saw  that  the  day  began  to 
break,  and  failing  in  his  purpose,  turned 
and  fled. 

He  was  soon  in  the  quarter  he  had  lately 
traversed,  and  pacing  to  and  fro  again  as 
he  had  done  before.  He  was  passing  down 
a  mean  street,  when  from  an  alley  close  at 
hand  some  shouts  of  revelry  arose,  and 
there  came  straggling  forth  a  dozen  mad- 
caps, whooping  and  calling  to  each  other, 
who,  parting  noisily,  took  diflx'rent  ways 
and  dispersed  in  smaller  groups. 

Hoping  that  some  low  place  of  entertanh 
ment  which  would  aff!)rd  him  a  safe  refuge 
might  be  near  at  hand,  he  turned  into  this 
court  when  they  were  all  gone,  and  looked 
about  for  a  half-opened  door,  or  lighted 
window,  or  other  indication  of  the  place 
whence  they  had  come.  It  was  so  pro- 
foundly dark,  however,  and  so  ill-favoured, 
that  he  concluded  they  had  but  turned  up 
there,  missing  their  way,  and  were  pour- 
ing out  again  when  he  observed  them. 
With  this  impression,  and  finding  there 
was  no  outlet  but  that  by  which  he  had 
entered  he  was  about  to  turn,  when  from  a 
grating  near  his  feet  a  sudden  stream  of 
light  appeared,  and  the  sound  of  talking 


BAR^ABY  RUDGE. 


83 


came.  lie  retreated  into  a  doorway  to 
t;oe  who  tliese  talkers  were,  and  to  listen 
to  tlieni. 

The  lipht  came  to  the  level  of  the  pave- 
ment as  he  did  this,  and  a  man  ascended, 
bearincj  in  his  hand  a  torch.  This  figure 
unlocked  and  held  open  the  grating  as  for 
the  passage  of  another,  who  presently  ap- 
peared, in  the  form  of  a  young  man  of 
small  stature  and  uncommon  self-import- 
ance. 

"  Good  night,  noble  captain,"  said  he 
with  the  torch.  "Farewell,  commander. 
Good  luck,  illustrious  general  !" 

In  return  to  these  compliments,  the 
other  hade  him  hold  his  tongue,  and  keep 
his  noise  to  himself;  and  laid  upon  him 
many  similar  injunctions,  with  great  fluen- 
cy of  speech  and  sternness  of  manner. 

"  Commend  me,  captain,  to  the  stricken 
Miggs,"  returned  the  torch-bearer  in  a 
lower  voice.  "  My  captain  flies  at  higher 
game  than  Miggses.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  My 
captain  is  an  eagle,  both  as  respects  his 
eye  and  soaring  wings.    My  captain  break- 


eth  hearts  as  other  bachelors  break  eggs 
at  breakfast." 

"  What  a  fool  you  are,  Stagg !"  said  Mr. 
Tappertit,  stepping  on  the  pavement  of  the 
court,  and  brushing  from  his  legs  the  dust 
he  had  contracted  in  his  passage  upward. 

"  His  precious  limbs !"  cried  Siagg, 
clasping  one  of  his  ancles.  "  Shall  a 
Miggs  aspire  to  these  proportions!  No, 
no,  my  captain.  We  will  inveigle  ladies 
fair,  and  wed  them  in  our  secret  cavern. 
We  will  unite  ourselves  with  bloorniri| 
beauties,  captain." 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what,  my  buck,"  said  Mr. 
Tappertit,  releasing  his  leg,  "  I'll  trouUi'^ 
you  not  to  take  liberties,  and  not  to  broach 
certain  questions  unless  certain  questioi  * 
are  broached  to  you.  Speak  when  you're 
spoke  to  on  particular  subjects,  and  not 
otherways.  Hold  tiie  torch  up  till  I  've 
got  to  the  end  of  the  court,  and  then  ken- 
nel yourselfi  do  you  hear  V 

"  I  hear  you,  noble  captain." 

"  Obey  then,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  haugh- 
tily. "  Gentlemen,  lead  on  !"  With  whicn 
word   of  command   (addressed   to  an  ima- 


£r^:^s=^|: 


84 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


ginary  staff  or  retinue)  ho  folded  his  arms, 
and  vvalked  with  surpassing  dij^nity  down 
the  court. 

His  obsequious  follower  stood  holdings  the 
torch  above  his  head,  and  tlien  the  observer 
saw  for  the  first  time,  from  his  phice  of 
conceahuent,  liiat  he  was  blind.  Some  in- 
voluntary motion  on  his  part  cau-jht  tlie 
quick  ear  of  the  blind  man,  before  lie  was 
conscious  of  havintj  moved  an  inch  towards 
him,  tor  ho  turned  suddenly  and  cried, 
"  Who's  tiicrer' 

"A  man,"  said  the  other,  advancing. 
•'  A  friend." 

"  A  stranger !"  rejoined  the  blind  man. 
"  Strangers  are  not  my  friends.  What  do 
you  do  there  1" 

"  I  saw  your  company  come  out,  and 
waited  here  till  they  were  gone.  1  want 
a  lodging." 

"A  lodging  at  this  time!"  returned 
Stagg,  pointing  towards  the  dawn  as  though 
he  saw  it.  "  Do  you  know  the  day  is  break- 
ing!" 

"  I  know  it,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  to  my 
cost.  I  have  been  traversing  this  iron- 
liearted  town  all  night." 

"You  had  better  traverse  it  again,"  said 
the  blind  man,  preparing  to  descend,  "  till 
you  find  some  lodgings  suitable  to  your 
taste.     I  don't  let  any." 

"  Stay  !"  cried  the  other,  holding  him  by 
the  arm. 

"  I  '11  beat  this  light  about  that  hangdog 
face  of  yours  (for  hangdog  it  is,  if  it  an- 
swers to  your  voice),  and  rouse  the  neigh- 
bourhood besides,  if  you  detain  me,"  said 
the  blind  man.  "Let  me  go.  Do  you 
hear '!" 

"  Do  you  hear !"  returned  the  other, 
chinking  a  few  shillings  together,  and  hur- 
riedly pressing  them  into  his  hand.  "  I 
beg  nothing  of  you.  I  will  pay  for  the 
siielter  you  give  me.  Death  !  Is  it  much 
to  ask  of  such  as  you  !  I  have  come  from 
the  country,  and  desire  to  rest  where  there 
are  none  to  question  me.  I  am  faint,  ex- 
hausted, worn  out,  and  nearly  dead.  Let 
me  lie  down,  like  a  dog,  before  your  fire. 
I  ask  no  more  than  that.  If  you  would  be 
rid  of  me,  I  will  depart  to-morrow." 


"If  a  gentleman  has  been  unfortunate 
on  the  road,"  muttered  Stagg,  yielding  to 
the  other,  who,  pressing  on  him,  nad  al- 
ready gained  a  footing  on  the  s-teps — "  and 
can  pay  for  his  accommodation — " 

"1  will  pay  you  with  all  I  have.  I  an\ 
just  now  past  the  want  of  food,  God  knows, 
and  wish  but  to  purchase  shelter.  WhaV 
companion  have  you  below'.'" 

"  None." 

"  Then  fasten  your  grate  there,  and  show 
n>e  the  way.     Quick  !" 

The  blind  man  complied  after  a  moment's 
hesitation,  and  they  descended  together. 
The  dialogue  had  passed  as  hurriedly  a3 
the  words  could  be  spoken,  and  they  stood 
in  his  wretched  room  before  he  had  had 
time  to  recover  from  his  first  surprise. 

"  May  1  see  where  that  door  leads  to,  and 
what  is  beyond  !"  said  the  man,  glancing 
keenly  round.     "You  will  not  mind  thaf!" 

"  I  will  show  you  myself  Follow  me, 
or  go  before.     Take  your  choice." 

He  bade  him  lead  the  way,  and,  by  the 
light  of  the  torch  vvhicii  his  conductor  held 
up  for  the  purpose,  inspected  all  three  cel- 
lars, narrowly.  Assured  that  the  blind 
man  had  spoken  truth,  and  that  he  lived 
there  alone,  the  visiter  returned  with  hihi 
to  the  first,  in  which  a  fire  was  burning, 
and  flung  himself  with  a  deep  groan  upon 
the  ground  before  it. 

His  host  pursued  his  usual  occupation 
without  seeming  to  heed  him  any  fiirther. 
But  directly  he  fell  asleep — and  he  noted 
liis  fallina'  into  a  slumber,  as  readily  as  the 
keenest-sighted  man  could  have  done — he 
knelt  down  beside  him,  and  passed  his 
hand  lightly  but  carefully  over  his  face  and 
person. 

His  sleep  was  checkered  with  starts  and 
moans,  and  sometimes  with  a  muttered 
word  or  two.  His  hands  were  clenched, 
liis  brow  bent,  a<id  his  mouth  firmly  set. 
All  this, the  blind  man  accurately  marked; 
and,  as  if  his  curiosity  were  strongly 
awakened,  and  he  had  already  some  ink- 
ling of  his  mystery,  he  sat  watching  him, 
if  the  expression  may  be  used,  and  listen- 
ing, until  it  was  broad  day- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


85 


CHAPTER  THE  NINETEENTH. 


Dolly  Varden's  pretty  little  head  was 
ypt  bi.'vvililered  by  various  recollections  of 
the  p.irty,  find  her  bri^rht  eyes  were  yet 
dazzled  by  a  crowd  of  imag-es,  dancintj  be- 
fore them  like  motes  in  tiie  sunbeams, 
amone^  which  the  effigy  of  one  partner  in 
particular  did  especially  fiffure,  the  same 
oeing  a  youn?  coachmaker,  (a  master  in 
nis  own  rifrht,)  who  had  given  her  to  un- 
derstand, when  he  handed  her  into  the 
chair  at  piirtinsr,  that  it  was  his  fixed  re- 
Bolvc  to  nctjlecl  his  business  from  that  time, 
and  die  slowly  for  the  love  of  her — Dolly's 
head,  and  eyes,  and  thoughts,  and  seven 
senses,  were  all  in  a  state  of  flutter  and 
confusion  for  which  the  party  was  account- 
able, although  it  was  now  three  days  old, 
when,  as  she  was  sitting  listlessly  at  break- 
fast, reading  all  manner  of  fortunes  (that 
is  to  say,  of  married  and  flourishing  for- 
tunes) in  the  grounds  of  her  teacup,  a  step 
was  heurd  in  the  workshop,  and  Mr.  Ed- 
ward Chester  was  descried  through  the 
glass  door,  standing  among  the  rusty  locks 
and  keys,  like  love  among  the  roses, — for 
which  apt  comparison  the  historian  may  by 
no  means  take  any  credit  to  himself,  the 
same  being  the  invention,  in  a  sentimental 
mood,  of  the  chaste  and  modest  Migo-s, 
who,  beholding  him  from  the  door-steps 
she  was  then  cleaning,  did,  in  her  maiden 
meditation,  give  utterance  to  the  simile. 

The  locksmith,  who  happened  at  the  mo- 
ment to  have  his  eyes  thrown  upward  and 
his  head  backward,  in  an  intense  commun- 
ing with  Toby,  did  not  see  his  visiter,  until 
Mrs.  Varden,  more  watchful  than  the  rest, 
had  desired  Sim  Tappertit  to  open  the  glass 
door  and  give  him  admission — from  which 
untoward  circumstance  the  good  lady  ar- 
gued (for  she  could  deduce  a  precious  moral 
from  the  most  trifling  circumstance)  that 
to  take  a  draught  of  small  ale  in  tlie  morn- 
ing was  to  observe  a  pernicious,  irreligious, 
and  Pagan  custom,  the  relish  whereof 
should  be  left  to  swine,  and  Satan,  or  at 
least  to  Popish  persons,  and  should  be  shun- 
ned by  the  righteous  as  a  work  of  sin  and 
evil.  She  would  no  doubt  have  pursued 
her  admonition  much  further,  and  would 
have  founded  on  it  a  long  list  of  precious  I 
precepts  of  inestimable  value,  but  that  the 
young  irentleman  standing  by  in  a  some- 
what uncomfortable  and  discomfited  manner 


while  she  read  her  spouse  this  lecture,  oc- 
casioned her  to  bring  it  to  a  premature  con- 
clusion. 

"I'm  sure  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  Varden,  rising  and  curtsying     "  Var- 
6 


den  is  so  very  thoughtless,  and  needs  so 
much  reminding  —  Sim,  bring  a  thair 
here." 

Mr.  Tappertit  obeyed,  with  a  flourish 
implying  that  he  did  so,  under  protest 

"  And  you  can  go,  Sim,"  said  the  .ock- 
smith. 

Mr.  Tappertit  obeyed  again,  still  under 
protest;  and  betaking  himself  to  the  work- 
shop, began  seriously  to  fear  that  he  riiight 
find  it  necessary  to  poison  his  master,  be- 
fore his  time  was  out. 

In  the  meantime,  Edward  returned  suit- 
able replies  to  Mrs.  Varden's  courtesies, 
and  that  lady  brightened  up  very  much ; 
so  that  when  he  accepted  a  dish  of  tea 
from  the  fair  hands  of  Dolly,  she  was  per- 
fectly agreeable. 

"I  am  sure  if  there's  anything  we  can 
do,  —  Varden,  or  I,  or  Dolly  either,  —  to 
serve  you,  sir,  at  any  time,  you  have  only 
to  say  it,  and  it  shall  be  done,"  said  Mrs.  V. 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure," 
returned  Edward.  "You  encourage  me 
to  say  that  I  have  come  here  now,  to  beg 
your  good  offices." 

Mrs.  Varden  was  delighted  beyond  mea- 
sure. 

"If  occurred  to  me  that  probably  your 
fair  daughter  might  be  going  to  the  War- 
ren, either  to-day  or  to-morrow,"  said  Ed- 
ward, glancing  at  Dolly  ;  "and  if  so,  and 
you  will  allow  her  to  take  charge  of  this 
letter.  Ma'am,  you  will  oblige  me  more 
than  I  can  tell  you.  The  truth  is,  that 
while  I  am  very  anxious  it  should  reach  its 
destination,  I  have  particular  reasons  for 
not  trusting  it  to  any  other  conveyance  ; 
so  that  without  your  help,  I  am  wholly  at 
a  loss." 

"She  was  not  going  that  way,  sir,  either 
to-day,  or  to-morrow,  nor  indeed  all  next 
week,"  the  lady  graciously  rejoined,  "  but 
we  shall  be  very  glad  to  put  ourselves  out 
of  the  way  on  your  account,  and  if  you 
wish  it,  you  may  depend  upon  its  goinir  to- 
day. Any  one  would  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Varden,  frowning  at  her  husband,  "from 
Varden's  sitting  there  so  glum  and  silent, 
that  he  objected  to  this  arrauirement ;  but 
you  must  not  mind  that,  sir,  if  you  please. 
It's  his  way  at  home.  Out  of  doors,  ho 
can  be  cheerful  and  talkative  enough  " 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  the  unfortunate 
locksmith,  blessing  his  stars  to  find  hirt 
helpmate  in  such  good  humour,  had  bceii 
sitting  with  a  beaming  face,  hearing  thi- 
discourse  with  a  silent  joy  past  all  exprea- 


88 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


eion.  Wherefore  this  sudden  attack  quite 
took  him  by  surprise. 

"  My  dear  Martha — "  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Varden,  with  a  smile  of  mintrled  scorn  and 
pleasantry.  "Very  dear!  We  all  know 
that." 

"  No,  but  my  good  soul,"  said  Gabriel, 
"  you  are  quite  mistaken.  You  are,  indeed. 
1  was  delighted  to  find  you  so  kind  and 
eady.  I  waited,  my  dear,  anxiously,  I 
assure  you,  to  hear  what  you  would  say." 

"  You  waited  anxiously,"  repeated  Mrs. 
V,  "  Yes !  Thank  you,  Varden.  You 
waited,  as  you  always  do,  tliat  I  miglit 
bear  the  blame,  if  any  came  of  it.  But  I 
am  used  to  it,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  kind 
of  solemn  titter,  "  and  that's  my  comfort !" 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Martha — "  said 
Gabriel. 

"  Let  me  give  you  my  word,  my  dear," 
interposed  his  wife,  with  a  Christian  smile, 
"  that  such  discussions  as  these  between 
married  people,  are  much  better  left  alone. 
Therefore,  if  you  please,  Varden,  we'll 
drop  the  subject.  I  have  no  wish  to  pursue 
it.  I  could,  f  might  say  a  great  deal. 
But  I  would  rather  not.  Pray  don't  say 
any  more." 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  any  more,"  rejoined 
the  goaded  locksmith, 

"  Well,  then,  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Varden. 

"Nor  did  I  begin  it,  Martha,"  added  the 
locksmith  good-humouredly,  "  I  must  say 
that." 

"You  did  not  bfgin  it,  Varden!"  ex- 
claimed his  wife,  opening  her  eyes  very 
wide  and  looking  round  upon  the  company, 
as  though  she  would  say,  '  You  hear  this 
man!'  "You  did  not  begin  it,  Varden! 
But  you  sliall  not  say  I  was  out  of  temper. 
No,  you  did  not  begin  it,  oh  dear  no,  not 
you !"  ' 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  locksmith.  — 
"That's  settled  then." 

"  Oh  yes,"  rejoined  his  wife,  "quite.  If 
you  like  to  say  Dolly  began  it,  my  dear,  I 
shall  not  contradict  you.  I  know  my  duty. 
I  need  know  it,  I  am  sure ;  for  I  am  often 
obliged  to  bear  it  in  mind,  when  my  incli- 
nation perhaps  would  be  for  the  moment  to 
forget  it.  Thank  you,  Varden."  And  so, 
with  a  mighty  show  of  humility  and  forgive- 
ness, she  folded  her  hands,  and  looked  round 
again  with  a  smile  which  plainly  said,  'If 
you  desiie  to  see  tlie  first  and  foremost 
among  female  martyrs,  here  she  is,  on 
'iew  !' 

This  little  incident,  illustrative  though 
it  was  of  Mrs.  Varden's  extraordinary  sweet- 
ness and  amiability,  had  so  strong  a  tendency 
\r,  check  the  conversation  and  to  disconcert 
ill  parties  but  that  excellent  lady,  that  only 


a  few  monosyllables  were  uttered  until 
Edward  withdrew  ;  which  he  presently  did, 
thanking  the  lady  of  the  house  a  great 
many  times  for  her  condescension,  and 
whispering  in  Dolly's  ear  that  he  would 
call  on  the  morrow,  \n  case  there  should 
happen  to  be  an  answer  to  the  note — which, 
indeed,  she  knew  without  his  telling,  as 
Barnaby  and  his  friend  Grip  had  dropped 
in  on  the  previous  night  to  prepare  her  for 
the  visit  which  was  then  terminating. 

Gabriel,  who  had  attended  Edward  to  the 
door,  came  back  with  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets ;  and,  after  fidgeting  about  the  room  in 
a  very  uneasy  manner,  and  casting  a  great 
many  sidelong  looks  at  Mrs.  Varden  (who 
with  the  calmest  countenance  in  the  world 
was  five  fathoms  deep  in  the  Protestant 
Manual,)  inquired  of  Dolly  how  she  meant 
to  go.  Dolly  supposed  by  the  stage-coach, 
and  looked  at  her  lady  mother,  who  finding 
herself  silently  appealed  to,  dived  down  at 
least  another  fathom  into  the  Manual,  and 
becnme  unconscious  of  all  earthly  things. 

"  Martha — "  said  the  locksmith. 

"  I  hear  you,  Varden,"  said  his  wife, 
without  rising  to  the  surface. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear,  you  have  such  an 
objection  to  the  Maypole  and  old  John,  for 
otherways  as  it's  a  very  fine  morning,  and 
Saturday  's  not  a  busy  day  with  us,  we 
might  have  all  three  gone  to  Chigwell  in 
the  chaise,  and  had  quite  a  happy  day  of  it." 

Mrs.  Varden  immediately  closed  the 
Manual,  and  bursting  into  tears,  requested 
to  be  led  up-stairs. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now,  Martha  1"  in- 
quired the  locksmith. 

To  which  Martha  rejoined  "  Oh  !  don't 
speak  to  me,"  and  protested  in  agony  that 
if  anybody  had  told  her  so,  she  wouldn't 
have  believed  it. 

"  But  Martha"  said  Gabriel,  putting  him- 
self in  the  way  as  she  was  moving  off  with 
the  aid  of  Dolly's  shoulder,  "  wouldn't  have 
believed  what]  Tell  me  what's  wrong 
now.  Do  tell  me.  Upon  my  soul  I  don't 
know.  Do  you  know,  child  1  Damme!" 
cried  the  locksmith,  plucking  at  his  wig  fn 
a  kind  of  frenzy,  "nobody  does  know,  I 
verily  believe,  but  Miggs!" 

"  Miggs,"  said  Mrs.  Varsden  faintly,  and 
with  symptoms  of  approaching  incoherence, 
"  is  attached  to  me,  and  that  is  sufficient  to 
draw  down  hatred  upon  her  in  this  house. 
She  is  a  comfort  to  me,  whatever  she  may 
be  to  others." 

"  She 's  no  comfort  to  me,"  cried  Gabriel, 
made  bold  by  despair.  "She's  the  misery 
of  my  life.  She 's  all  the  plagues  of  Egypt 
in  one." 

"  She's  considered  so,  I  have  no  doubt," 
said  Mrs.  Varsden.     "  I  was  prepared  for 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


8? 


that;  it's  natural;  it's  of  a  piece  with  the 
rest.  When  you  t;iunt  me  as  you  do  to  my 
face,  how  can  I  wonder  that  you  taunt  her 
behind  her  back  !"  And  here  the  incohe- 
rence coming  on  very  stroncr,  Mrs.  Var- 
den  wept,  and  lauirhed,  and  sobbed,  and 
shivered,  and  hiccoughed,  and  choalted ; 
and  said  she  knew  it  was  very  foolish  but 
she  couldn't  help  it ;  and  that  when  she  was 
dead  and  gone,  perhaps  ihey  would  be  sorry 
for  it — which  really  under  the  circumstan- 
ces did  not  appear  quite  so  probable  as  she 
seemed  to  think — with  a  great  deal  more  to 
the  same  effect.  In  a  word,  she  passed 
with  great  decency  through  all  the  cere- 
monies incidental  to  such  occasions;  and 
being  supported  up-stairs,  was  deposited  in 
a  highly  spasmodic  state  on  her  own  bed, 
where  Miss  Miggs  shortly  afterwards  flung 
herself  upon  the  body. 

Now,  the  philosophy  of  all  this  was,  that 
Mrs.  Varden  wanted  to  go  to  Chigwell ; 
that  she  did  not  want  to  make  any  conces- 
sion or  explanation;  that  she  would  only 
go  on  being  implored  and  entreated  so  to 
00 ;  and  that  she  would  accept  no  other 
terms.  Accordingly,  after  a  vast  amount 
of  moaning  and  crying  up-stairs,  and  much 
damping  of  foreheads,  and  vinegaring  of 
temples,  and  hartshorning  of  noses,  and  so 
forth ;  and  after  most  pathetic  adjurations 
from  Migirs,  assisted  by  warm  brandy-and- 
water  not  over-weak,  and  divers  other  cor- 
dials, also  of  a  stimulating  quality,  adminis- 
tered at  first  in  tea-spoonsful  and  afterwards 
in  increasing  doses,  and  of  which  Miss 
Miggs  herself  partook  as  a  preventive  mea- 
sure (for  fainting  is  infectious;)  after  all 
these  remedies  and  many  more  too  nume- 
rous to  mention,  but  not  to  take,  had  been 
applied;  and  many  verbal  consolations, 
moral,  reliorions,  and  miscellaneous,  had 
been  superadded  thereto;  the  locksmith 
humbled  himself,  and  the  end  was  gained. 

"If  it's  only  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness,  father,"  said  Dolly,  urging  him 
to  go  up-stairs. 

"Oh,  Doll,  Doll,"  said  her  good-natured 
father.  "  If  you  ever  have  a  husband  of 
your  own — " 

Dolly  glanced  at  the  glass. 

" — Well,  ui/icn  you  have,"  said  the  lock- 
smith, "  never  faint,  my  darling.  More 
domestic  unhappiness  has  come  of  easy 
fainting,  Doll,  than  from  all  the  greater 
passions  put  together.  Remember  that, 
my  dear,  if  you  would  be  really  happy — and  1 
you  never  can  be,  if  your  husband  isn't.  | 
And  a  word  in  your  ear,  my  precious. — 
Never  have  a  Mirrgs  about  you  !" 

With  this  advice  he  kissed  his  blooming 
daughter  on  the  cheek,  and  slowly  repaired 
to  Mrs.  Varden's  room ;  where  that  lady, 


lying  all  pale  and  languid  on  ner  couch,  was 
refreshing  herself  with  a  sight  of  her  last 
new  bonnet,  which  Miggs,  as  a  means  of 
calming  her  scattered  spirits,  displayed  to 
the  best  advantage  at  her  bedside. 

"Here's  master,  mim,"  said  Miggs. 
"  Oh,  what  a  happiness  it  is  when  man  and 
wife  come  round  again !  Oh  gracious,  to 
think  that  him  and  her  should  ever  have  a 
word  together!"  In  the  energy  of  these 
sentiments,  which  were  uttered  as  an  apos- 
trophe to  the  Heavens  in  general,  Miss 
Miggs  perched  the  bonnet  on  the  top  of  her 
own  head,  and  folding  her  hands,  turned  on 
her  tears. 

"I  can't  help  it,"  cried  Miggs,  "I 
couldn't,  if  I  was  to  be  drowned  in  'em. 
She  has  such  a  forgiving  spirit !  She  '11 
forget  all  that  has  passed,  and  go  along 
with  you,  sir.  Oh,  if  it  was  to  the  world's 
end,  she'd  go  along  with  you." 

Mrs.  Varden  with  a  faint  smile  gently 
reproved  her  attendant  for  this  enthusiasm, 
and  reminded  her  at  the  same  time  that  she 
was  far  too  unwell  to  venture  out  that  day. 

"  Oh  no,  you're  not,  mim,  indeed  you're 
not,"  said  Miggs;  "I  repeal  to  master; 
master  knows  you  're  not,  mim.  The  hair, 
and  motion  of  the  shay,  will  do  you  good, 
mim,  and  you  must  not  give  way,  you  must 
not  raly.  She  must  keep  up,  mustn't  she, 
sir,  for  all  our  sakes  1  I  was  a  telling  her 
that,  just  now.  She  must  remember  us, 
even  if  she  forgets  herself.  Master  will 
persuade  you,  mim,  I'm  sure.  There's 
Miss  Dolly  's  a  going  you  know,  and  mas- 
ter, and  you,  and  all  so  happy  and  so  com- 
fortable. Oh!"  cried  Miggs,  turning  on 
the  tears  again,  previous  to  quitting  the 
room  in  great  emotion,  "  I  never  see  such 
a  blessed  one  as  she  is  for  the  forgiveness 
of  her  spirit,  I  never,  never,  never  did. 
Nor  more  did  master  neither ;  no,  nor  no 
one — never !" 

For  five  minutes  or  thereabouts,  Mrs. 
Varden  remained  mildly  opposed  to  all  her 
husband's  prayers  that  she  would  oblige 
him  by  taking  a  day's  pleasure,  but  relent- 
ing at  length,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  per 
suaded,  and  granting  him  her  free  forgive- 
ness (the  merit  whereof  she  meekly  said 
rested  with  the  Manual  and  not  with  her,) 
desired  that  Migfjs  might  come  and  help 
herdress.  The  handmaid  attended  prompt- 
ly, and  it  is  but  justice  to  their  joint  exer- 
tions to  record  tliat,  when  the  good  lady 
came  down  stairs  in  course  of  time,  com- 
pletely decked  out  for  the  journey,  she 
really  looked  as  if  nothing  had  happened, 
and  appeared  in  the  very  best  health  imagi 
nable. 

As  to  Dolly,  there  she  was  again,  the 
very  pink  and  pattern  of  good  looks,  in  a 


88 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


smart  littlo  cherry-coloured  mantle,  witii  a 
hood  of  the  same  drawn  over  her  head,  and 
upon  the  top  of  that  hood,  a  little  straw  hat 
trimmed  with  cherry-coloured  rihbons,  and 
worn  the  merest  trifle  on  one  side  —  just 
enough  in  sliort  to  make  it  the  wickedest 
and  t/iost  provoking  head-dress  that  ever 
malicious  milliner  devised.  And  not  to 
speak  of  the  manner  in  which  these  cherry- 
coloured  decorations  brig-htened  her  eyes, 
or  vied  with  her  lips,  or  shed  a  new  bloom 
on  her  face,  she  wore  such  a  cruel  little 
muff,  and  such  a  heart-rending  pair  of  shoes, 
and  was  so  surrounded  and  hemmed  in,  as 
it  were,  by  asfgravations  of  all  kinds,  that 
when  Mr.  Tappertit,  holding  the  horse's 
head,  saw  her  come  out  of  the  house  alone, 
such  impulses  came  over  him  to  decoy  her 
into  the  chaise  and  drive  off  like  mad,  that 
he  would  unquestionably  have  done  it,  but 
for  certain  uneasy  doubts  besetting  him  as 
to  the  shortest  way  to  Gretna  Green ;  whe- 
ther it  was  up  the  street  or  down,  or  up  the 
right-hand  turning  or  the  left  ;  and  whe- 
ther, supposing  all  the  turnpikes  to  be  car- 
ried by  storm,  the  blacksmith  in  the  end 
would  marry  them  on  credit;  which  by  rea- 
son of  his  clerical  office  appeared,  even  to 
his  excited  imagination,  so  unlikely,  that  he 
hesitated.  And  while  he  stood  hesitating, 
and  looking  post-cliaises-and-six  at  Dolly, 
out  comes  his  master  and  his  mistress,  and 
the  constant  Miggs,  and  the  opportunity 
was  gone  for  ever.  For  now  the  chaise 
creaked  upon  its  springs,  and  Mrs.  Varden 
was  inside ;  and  now  it  creaked  again,  and 
more  than  ever,  and  the  locksmith  was  in- 
side; and  now  it  bounded  once,  as  if  its 
heart  beat  lightly,  and  Dolly  was  inside; 
and  now  it  was  gone  and  its  place  was 
empty,  and  he  and  tiiat  dreary  Miggs  were 
standing  in  the  street  together. 

The  hearty  locksmith  was  in  as  good  a 
humour  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  for  the 
last  twelve  months  to  put  him  out  of  his 
way,  Dolly  was  all  smiles  and  graces,  and 
Mrs.  Varden  was  agreeable  beyond  all  pre- 
cedent. As  they  jogged  through  the  streets 
talkingof  this  tiiinir  and  of  that,  who  should 
be  descried  upon  the  pavement  but  that 
very  coachmaker  looking  so  genteel  that 
nobody  would  have  believed  he  had  ever 
had  anything  to  do  with  a  coach  but  riding 
in  it,  and  bowing  like  any  nobleman  !  To 
be  sure  Dolly  was  confused  when  she 
bowed  again,  and  to  he  sure  the  cherry-co- 
loured ribbons  trembled  a  little  when  she 
met  his  mournful  eye,  which  seemed  to  say, 
'  1  have  kept  my  word,  I  have  begun,  the 
business  is  going  to  the  devil,  and  you  're 
the  cause  of  it.'  There  he  stood,  rcwted  to 
the  ground:  as  Dolly  said,  like  a  statue; 
and   as    Mrs.  Vanleu   said,  like  a   pump; 


till  they  turned  the  corner:  and  when  her 
father  thought  it  was  like  his  impudence, 
and  her  mother  wondered  what  he  meant 
by  it,  Dolly  blushed  again  till  her  very  hood 
was  pale. 

But  on  they  went,  not  the  less  merrily 
for  this,  and  there  was  the  locksmith  in 
the  incautious  fulness  of  his  lieart,  "  pull- 
ing-up"  at  all  manner  of  places,  and  evinc- 
ing a  most  intimate  acquaintance  with  all 
the  taverns  on  the  road,  and  all  the  land- 
lords and  all  the  landladies,  with  whom, 
indeed,  the  little  horse  was  on  equalh 
friendly  terms,  for  he  kept  on  stopping 
his  own  accord.  Never  were  people 
glad  to  see  other  people  as  these  landlords 
and  landladies  were  to  behold  Mr.  Varden 
and  Mrs.  Varden  and  Miss  Varden;  and 
wouldn't  they  get  out,  said  one  ;  and  they 
really  must  walk  up  stairs,  said  another; 
and  she  would  take  it  ill,  and  be  quite  cer- 
tain they  were  proud,  if  they  wouldn't 
have  a  little  taste  of  something,  said  a 
third  ;  and  so  on,  that  it  really  was  quite  a 
Progress  rather  than  a  ride,  and  one  con- 
tinued scene  of  hospitality  from  beginning 
to  end.  It  was  pleasant  enough  to  be  held 
in  such  esteem,  not  to  mention  the  rcfresl>- 
ments;  so  Mrs.  Varden  said  nothing  at  the 
time,  and  all  was  affability  and  delight — 
but  such  a  body  of  evidence  as  she  collect- 
ed against  the  unfortunate  locksmith  that 
day,  to  be  used  hereafter  as  occasion  might 
require,  never  was  got  together  for  matri- 
monial purposes. 

In  course  of  time  —  and  in  course  of  a 
pretty  long  time  too,  for  these  agreeable 
interruptions  delayed  them  not  a  little  — 
they  arrived  upon  the  skirts  of  the  Forest, 
and  riding  pleasantly  on  among  the  trees, 
came  at  last  to  the  Maypole,  where  the 
locksmith's  cheerful  "  Yoho !"  speedily 
brought  to  the  porch  old  John,  and  after 
him  young  Joe,  both  of  whom  were  so 
transfixed  at  sight  of  the  ladies,  that  for 
a  moment  they  were  perfectly  unable  to 
give  them  any  welcome,  and  could  do  no- 
thing but  stare. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  that 
Joe  forgot  himself,  for  speedily  r(n'iving,  he 
thrust  liis  drowsy  father  aside — to  Mr.  VVil- 
let's  mighty  and  inexpressible  indignation 
— and  darting  out,  stood  reatly  to  help  them 
to  alight.  It  was  necessary  for  Dolly  to 
get  out  first.  Joe  had  her  in  his  arms; — 
yes,  though  for  a  space  of  time  no  longer 
than  you  could  count  one  in,  Joe  had  her 
in  his  arms.  Here  was  a  glimpse  of  hap- 
piness ! 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  what  a 
flat  and  common-place  affair  the  helping 
Mrs.  Varder;  out  afterwards  was;  but  Joe 
did  it,  and  did  it  too  with  the  best  grace  in 


CARNABY  RUDGE. 


the  world.  Then  old  John,  who,  entertain- 
ing a  dull  and  focr^y  sort  of  idea  that  Mrs. 
Varden  \vasn't  fond  of  him,  had  been  in 
some  doubt  whether  she  niig-ht  not  have 
come  for  purposes  of  assault  and  b-ittery, 
took  courage,  iioped  siie  was  well,  and  of- 
fered to  conduct  iier  into  the  house.  This 
lender  being  amicably  received,  tliey  march- 
ed in  together;  Joe  and  Dolly  followed, 
arm-inarm,  (happiness  again  !)  and  Varden 
broufflit  up  the  rear. 

Old  John  would  have  it  that  they  must 
sit  in  the  bar,  and  nobody  objecting,  into 
the  bar  they  went.  All  bars  are  snug 
places,  but  the  Maypole's  was  the  very 
snuggest,  cosiest,  and  completest  bar,  that 
ever  the  wit  of  man  devised.  Such  amaz- 
ing bottles  in  old  oaken  pigeon-holes  ;  such 
sturdy  little  Dutch  kegs  ranged  in  rows  on 
shelves;  so  many  lemons  hanging  in  sepa- 
rate nets,  and  forming  the  fragrant  grove 
already  mentioned  in  this  chronicle,  sug- 
gestive, with  goodly  cans  and  snowy  sugar 
stowed  away  hard  by,  of  punch,  idealised 
beyond  all  mortal  knowledge;  such  closets, 
eucii  presses,  such  places  for  putting  things 
away  in  hollow  window-seats,  all  crammed 
to  the  throat  with  eatables,  drinkables,  or 
savoury  condiments;  lastly,  and  to  crown 
all,  as  typical  of  the  immense  resources  of 
the  establishment,  and  its  defiance  to  all 
visiters  to  cut  and  come  again,  such  a  stu- 
pendous cheese ! 

It  is  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices — it 
must  have  been  the  poorest,  weakest,  and 
most  watery  heart  that  ever  beat,  which 
would  not  have  warmed  towards  the  May- 
pole bar.  Mrs.  Varden's  did  directly.  She 
could  no  more  have  reproached  John  Wil- 
let  among  those  household  gods,  the  kegs 
and  bottles,  lemons,  pipes,  and  cheese,  than 
she  could  have  stabbed  him  with  his  own 


bright  carving-knife.  The  order  foi  dinner 
too — it  might  have  sooliied  a  savage  "A 
bit  of  fish,"  said  John  to  the  cook,  "  and 
some  lamb  chops  (breadf-d,  with  plenty  of 
ketchup),  and  a  good  salad,  and  a  roast 
spring  chicken,  with  a  dish  of  sausages  and 
mashed  potatoes,  or  something  of  that  sort." 
Something  of  that  sort!  The  resources 
of  these  inns !  To  talk  carelessly  about 
dishes,  which  in  themselves  were  a  first- 
rate  holiday  sort  of  dinner,  suitable  to  one's 
wedding-day,  as  something  of  that  sort: 
meaning,  if  you  can't  get  a  spring  chicken, 
any  other  trifle  in  the  way  of  poultry  will 
do  —  such  as  a  peacock,  perhaps  !  The 
kitchen  too,  with  its  great  broad  cavernous 
chimney;  the  kitchen,  where  nothing  in 
the  way  of  cookery  seemed  impossible; 
where  you  could  believe  in  anything  to  eat, 
they  chose  to  tell  you  of.  Mrs.  Varden  re- 
turned from  the  contemplation  of  these 
wonders  to  the  bar  again,  with  a  head  quite 
dizzy  and  bewildered.  Her  housekeeping 
capacity  was  not  large  enough  to  compre- 
hend them.  She  was  obliged  to  go  to 
sleep.  Waking  was  pain,  in  the  midst  of 
such  immensity. 

Dolly,  in  the  meanwhile,  whose  gay 
heart  "and  head  ran  upon  other  matters, 
passed  out  at  the  garden  door,  and  glancing 
back  now  and  then  (but  of  course  not  won- 
dering whether  Joe  saw  her),  tripped  away 
by  a  path  across  the  fields  with  which  she 
was  well  acquainted,  to  discharge  her  mis- 
sion at  the  Warren;  and  this  deponent 
hath  been  informed  and  verily  believes, 
that  you  might  have  seen  many  less  plea- 
sant objects  than  the  cherry-coloured  man- 
tle and  ribbons,  as  they  went  fluttering 
along  the  green  meadows  in  the  bright 
light  of  the  day,  like  giddy  things  as  they 
were. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTIETH. 


The  proud  consciousness  of  her  trust, 
and  the  great  importance  she  derived  from 
it,  might  have  advertised  it  to  all  the  house 
if  she  had  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  its 
inhabitants;  but  as  Dolly  had  played  in 
every  dtill  room  and  passage  many  and 
many  a  time,  when  a  child,  and  had  ever 
since  been  the  humble  friend  of  Miss  Hare- 
dale,  whose  foster-sister  she  was,  she  was 
as  free  of  the  building  as  the  young  lady 
herself.  So,  using  no  greater  precaution 
than  holding  her  breath  and  walking  on 
tiptoe  as  she  passed  the  library  door,  she 


went  straight  to  Emma's  room  as  a  privi- 
leged visiter. 

It  was  the  liveliest  room  in  the  building. 
The  chamber  was  sombre  like  the  rest  for 
the  matter  of  that,  but  the  presence  of 
youth  and  beauty  would  make  a  prison 
cheerful  (saving,  alas!  that  confinement 
withers  them),  and  lend  some  charms  of 
their  own  to  the  gloomiest  scene.  Birds, 
flowers,  books,  drawincf,  music,  and  a  hun- 
dred such  graceful  tokens  of  feminine  lovea 
and  cares,  filled  it  with  more  of  life  and 
bu.man  sympathy  than  the  whole  house  be- 


90 


BARNABY    RUDGE 


sides  seemed  made  to  hold.  There  was 
heart  in  the  room ;  and  who  that  has  a 
heart,  ever  fails  to  recognize  the  silent  pre- 
sence of  another ! 

Dolly  had  one  undoubtedly,  and  it  was 
not  a  tough  one  cither,  tliough  there  was  a 
little  mist  of  cocjuettishness  about  it,  such 
as  sometimes  surrounds  that  sun  of  life  in 
its  morning,  and  slightly  dims  its  lustre. 
Thus,  when  Emma  rose  to  greet  her,  and 
kissing  her  afl'ectionately  on  the  cheek, 
told  her,  in  her  quiet  way,  that  she  had 
been  very  unhappy,  the  tears  stood  in  Dolly's 
eyes,  and  she  felt  more  sorry  than  she  could 


tell ;  but  next  moment  she  happened  to 
raise  them  to  the  glass,  and  really  there 
was  something  there  so  exceedingly  agree- 
able, that  as  she  sighed,  she  smiled,  ami 
felt  surprisingly  consoled. 

"  1  have  heard  about  it,  Miss,"  said  Dolly, 
"and  it's  very  sad  indeed,  but  when  things 
are  at  the  worst  they  are  sure  to  mend." 

"  But  are  you  sure  they  are  at  the  worst  1" 
asked  PJmma,  with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  1  don't  see  how  they  can  very 
well  be  more  unpromising  than  they  are  ; 
I  really  don't,"  said  Dolly.  "  And  1  bring 
something  to  begin  with." 


"  Not  from  Edward  1" 

Dolly  nodded  and  smiled,  and  feeling  in 
her  pockets  (there  were  pockets  in  those 
days)  with  an  affectation  of  not  being  able 
to  find  what  she  wanted,  which  greatly 
enhanced  her  importance,  at  length  pro 
duced  the  letter.  As  Emma  hastily  broke 
the  seal  and  became  absorbed  in  its  con- 
tents, Dolly's  eyes,  by  one  of  those  strange 
accidents  for  which  there  is  no  accounting, 
wandered  to  tl)e  glass  again.  She  could 
not  help  wondering  whether  the  coach- 
maker  suffered  very  much,  and  quite  pitied 
the  poor  man. 

It  was  a  long  letter — a  very  long  letter, 
written  close  on  all  four  sides  of  the  sheet 
of  paper,  and  crossed  afterwards;  but  it 
was  not  a  c(<nsolatory  letter,  for  as  Emma 
read  u  she  stopped  from  time  to  time  to 
)»ut  her  handkerchief  to  her  eves.     To  be 


sure  Dolly  marvelled  greatly  to  see  her  in 
so  much  distress,  for  to  her  thinking  a  love 
affair  ought  to  be  one  of  the  best  jokes, 
and  the  slyest,  merriest  kind  of  thing  in 
life.  But  she  set  it  down  in  her  own  mind 
that  all  this  came  from  Miss  Haredale's 
being  so  constant,  and  that  if  she  would 
only  take  on  with  some  other  young  gen- 
tleman—  just  in  the  most  innocent  way 
p)ssible,  to  keep  her  first  lover  up  to  the 
mark — she  would  find  herself  inexpressibly 
comforted. 

"  I  am  sure  that 's  what  I  should  do  if  it 
was  me,"  thought  Dolly.  "  To  make  one's 
sweethearts  miserable  is  well  enough  and 
quite  right,  but  to  be  made  miserable  one's 
self  is  a  little  too  much  !" 

However,  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  so,  and 
therefore  she  sat  looking  on  in  silence. 
1  She  needed  a  pretty  considerable  stretcb 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


91 


of  patience,  for  when  the  long  letter  had 
been  read  once  all  through  it  was  read 
again.  During  this  tedious  process,  Dolly 
beguiled  the  time  in  the  most  improving 
manner  that  occurred  to  her,  by  curling 
her  hair  on  her  fingers,  with  the  aid  of  the 
looking-ijlass  before  mentioned,  and  giving 
it  some  killing  twists. 

Everything  has  an  end.  Even  young 
ladies  in  love  cannot  read  their  letters  for 
ever.  In  course  of  time  the  packet  was 
folded  up,  and  it  only  remained  to  write  the 
answer. 

But  as  this  promised  to  be  a  work  of 
time  likewise,  Emma  said  she  would  put  it 
otf  until  after  dinner,  and  that  Dolly  must 
dine  with  her.  As  Dolly  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  do  so  beforehand,  she  required  very 
little  pressing;  and  when  they  had  settled 
this  point,  they  went  to  walk  in  the  gar- 
den. 

They  strolled  up  and  down  the  terrace 
walks,  talking  incessantly — at  least,  Dolly 
never  left  off  once — and  making  that  quar- 
ter of  the  sad  and  mournful  house  quite 
gay.  Not  that  they  talked  loudly  or  laugh- 
ed much,  but  they  were  both  so  very  hand- 
some, and  it  was  such  a  breezy  day,  and 
their  light  dresses  and  dark  curls  appeared 
so  free  and  joyous  in  their  abandonment, 
and  Emma  was  so  fair,  and  Dolly  so  rosy, 
and  Emma  so  delicately  shaped,  and  Dolly 
so  plump,  and  —  in  short,  there  are  no 
flowers  for  any  garden  like  such  flowers, 
let  horticulturists  say  what  they  may,  and 
both  house  and  garden  seemed  to  know  it, 
and  to  brighten  up  sensibly. 

After  this,  came  the  dinner  and  the  letter 
writing,  and  some  more  tal'Kmg,  m  the 
course  of  which  Miss  Haredale  took  occa- 
sion to  charge  upon  Dolly  certain  flirtish 
and  inconstant  propensities,  which  accusa- 
tions Dolly  seemed  to  think  very  compli- 
mentary indeed,  and  to  be  mightily  amused 
with.  Finding  her  quite  incorrigible  in 
this  respect,  Emma  suffered  her  to  depart; 
but  not  before  she  had  confided  to  her  that 
important  and  never-sufficiently-to-be- taken- 
care-of  answer,  and  endowed  her  moreover 
with  a  pretty  little  bracelet  as  a  keepsake. 
Having  clasped  it  on  her  arm,  and  again 
advised  her  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest 
to  amend  her  roguish  ways,  for  she  knew 
Bhe  was  fond  of  Joe  at  heart  (which  Dolly 
stoutly  denied,  with  a  great  many  haughty 
protestations  that  she  hoped  she  could  do 
better  than  that  indeed  !  and  so  forth),  she 
bade  her  farewell;  and  after  calling  her 
back  to  give  her  more  supplementary  mes- 
sages for  Edward,  than  anybody  witli  ten- 
fold the  gravity  of  Dolly  Varden  could  be 
reasonably  expected  to  remember,  at  length 
dismissed  her. 


Dolly  bade  her  good-bye,  and  tripping 
lightly  down  the  stairs  arrived  at  the  dread- 
ed library  door,  and  was  about  to  pa:-s  it 
again  on  tiptoe,  when  it  opened,  and  be- 
hold !  there  stood  Mr.  Haredale.  Now, 
Dolly  had  from  her  childhood  associated 
with  this  gentleman  the  idea  of  something 
grim  and  ghastly,  and  being  at  the  moment 
conscience-stricken  besides,  the  sight  of 
him  threw  her  into  such  a  flurry  that  she 
could  neither  acknowledge  his  presence 
nor  run  away;  so  she  gave  a  great  start, 
and  then  with  downcast  eyes  stood  still 
and  trembled. 

"  Come  here,  girl,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
taking  her  by  the  hand.  "  I  want  to  speak 
to  you." 

"  If  you  please  sir,  I'm  in  a  hurry,"  fal- 
tered Dolly,  "and  —  and  you  have  fright- 
ened me  by  coming  so  suddenly  upon  me 
sir — I  would  rather  go  sir,  if  you  '11  be  so 
good  as  to  let  me." 

"  Immediately,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  who 
had  by  this  time  led  her  into  the  room  and 
closed  the  door.  "  You  shall  go  directly. 
You  have  just  left  Emma?" 

"Yes  sir,  just  this  minute.  Father's 
waiting  for  me  sir,  if  you  '11  please  to  have 
the  goodness " 

"  I  know.  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 
"  But  answer  me  one  question.  What  did 
you  bring  here  to-day  1" 

"  Bring  here,  sir  ?"  faltered  Dolly. 

"  You  will  tell  me  the  truth,  I  am  sure. 
Yes." 

Dolly  hesitated  for  a  little  while,  and 
somewhat  emboldened  by  his  manner,  said 
at  last,  "  Well  then,  sir.     It  was  a  letter." 

"  From  Mr.  Chester,  of  course.  And  you 
are  the  bearer  of  the  answer!" 

Dolly  hesitated  again,  and  not  being  able 
to  decide  upon  any  other  course  of  action, 
burst  into  tears. 

"  You  alarm  yourself  without  cause," 
said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  Why  are  you  so  fool- 
ish! Surely  you  can  answer  me.  Yon 
know  that  I  have  but  to  put  the  question  to 
Emma,  and  learn  the  truth  directly.  Have 
you  the  answer  with  you  ]" 

Dolly  had  what  is  popularly  called  a  spi- 
rit of  her  own,  and  being  now  fairly  at  bay, 
made  the  best  of  it. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  rejoined,  trembling  and 
frightened  as  she  was.  "  Yes  sir,  I  have. 
You  may  kill  me  if  you  please,  sir,  but  I 
won't  give  it  up.  I  'ra  very  sorry, — but  I 
won't.     There  sir." 

"  I  commend  your  firmness,  and  your 
plain-speaking,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  Kesc 
assured  that  I  have  as  little  desire  to  take 
your  letter  as  your  life.  You  are  a  very 
discreet  messenger  and  a  good  girl." 

Not  feeling  quite  certain,  as  she  sftet- 


02 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


wards  said,  wlielher  he  might  not  be  "  cnni- 
itiiX  over  her"  with  these  compliments, 
Dolly  kept  as  far  from  him  as  she  could, 
cried  airain,  and  resolved  to  defend  her 
pocket  (tor  the  letter  was  there)  to  the  last 
extremity. 

"  I  liave  some  design,"  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  after  a  short  silence,  during  which  a 
smile,  as  he  regarded  her,  had  struggled 
through  the  gloom  and  melancholy  that  was 
natural  to  his  face,  "  of  providing  a  com- 
panion for  my  niece;  for  her  life  is  a  very 
lonely  one.  Would  you  like  the  office? 
You  are  the  oldest  friend  she  has,  and  the 
best  entitled  to  it." 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  Dolly, 
not  sure  but  he  was  bantering  her  ;  "  I 
can't  say.  I  don't  know  what  they  might 
wish  at  home.  I  couldn't  give  an  opinion, 
sir." 

"  If  your  friends  had  no  objection,  would 
you  have  any]"  said  Mr.  Haredale. — 
"Conio.  There's  a  plain  question;  and 
easy  to  answer." 

"  None  at  all  that  I  know  of,  sir,"  re- 
plied Dolly.  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to  be 
near  Miss  Emma,  of  course,  and  always 
am." 

"  That 's  well,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. — 
"  That  is  all  I  had  to  say.  You  are  anxious 
to  go.     Don't  let  me  detain  you." 

Dolly  didn't  let  him,  nor  did  she  wait  for 
him  to  try,  for  the  words  had  no  sooner 
passed  his  lips  than  she  was  out  of  the 
room,  out  of  the  house,  and  in  the  fields 
again. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done,  of  course, 
when  she  came  to  herself  and  considered 
what  a  flurry  she  had  been  in,  was  to  cry 
afresh ;  and  the  next  thing,  when  she  re- 
flected how  well  she  had  got  over  it,  was 
to  laugh  heartily.  The  tears  once  banished 
gave  place  to  the  smiles,  and  at  last  Dolly 
laughed  so  much  that  she  was  fain  to  lean 
against  a  tree,  and  give  vent  to  her  exulta- 
tion. When  she  could  laugh  no  longer, 
and  was  quite  tired,  she  put  her  head-dress 
to  rights,  dried  her  eyes,  looked  back  very 
merrily  and  triumphantly  at  the  Warren 
chimneys,  which  were  just  visible,  and  re- 
sumed her  walk. 

The  twilight  had  come  on,  and  it  was 


quickly  growing  dusk,  but  the  path  was  m 
familiar  to  her  from  frequent  traversing, 
that  she  hardly  thought  of  this,  and  cer- 
tainly felt  no  uneasiness  at  being  alone. 
Moreover,  there  was  the  bracelet  to  ad- 
mire; and  when  she  had  given  it  a  good 
rub,  and  held  it  out  at  arm's  length,  it 
sparkled  and  glittered  so  beautifully  on  her 
wrist,  that  to  look  at  it  in  every  point  of 
view  and  with  every  possible  turn  of  the 
arm,  was  quite  an  absorbing  business. 
There  was  tlie  letter  too,  and  it  looked  so 
mysterious  and  knowing,  when  she  took  it 
out  of  her  pocket,  and  it  held,  as  she  knew, 
so  much  inside,  that  to  turn  it  over  and 
over,  and  think  about  it,  and  wonder  how 
it  began,  and  how  it  ended,  and  what  it 
said  all  through,  was  another  matter  of 
constant  occupation.  Between  the  brace- 
let and  the  letter,  there  was  quite  enough 
to  do  without  thinking  of  anything  else; 
and  admiring  each  by  turns,  Dolly  went  on 
gaily. 

As  she  passed  through  a  wicket  gate  to 
where  the  path  was  narrow,  and  lay  be- 
tween two  hedges  garnished  here  and  there 
with  trees,  she  heard  a  rustling  close  at 
hand,  which  brought  her  to  a  sudden  stop. 
She  listened.  All  was  very  quiet,  and  she 
went  on  again — not  absolutely  frightened, 
but  a  little  quicker  than  before  perliaps,  and 
possibly  not  quite  so  much  at  her  ease,  foi 
a  check  of  that  kind  is  startling. 

She  had  no  sooner  moved  on  again,  than 
she  was  conscious  of  the  same  sound,  which 
was  like  that  of  a  person  tramping  steal- 
thily among  bushes  and  brushwood.  Look- 
ing  towards  the  spot  whence  it  appeared  to 
come,  she  almost  fancied  she  could  make 
out  a  crouching  figure.  She  stopped  again. 
All  was  quiet  as  before.  On  she  went  once 
more — decidedly  faster  now — and  tried  to 
sing  softly  to  herself.     It  must  be  the  wind. 

But  how  came  the  wind  to  blow  only 
when  she  walked,  and  cease  when  she 
stood  still!  She  stopped  involuntarily  as 
she  made  the  reflection,  and  the  rustling 
noise  stopped  likewise.  She  was  really 
frightened  now,  and  was  yet  hesitating 
what  to  do,  when  the  busJies  crackled  and 
snapped,  and  a  man  came  plunging  through 
them,  close  before  her. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


1)3 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FIRST. 


It  was  for  the  moment  an  inexpressible 
relief  to  Dolly,  to  recognize  in  the  person 
who  forced  himself  into  the  path  so  abrupt- 
ly, and  now  stood  directly  in  her  way, 
Hugh  of  the  Maypole,  whose  name  she 
uttered  in  a  tone  of  delighted  surprise  that 
came  from  her  heart. 

"  Was  it  you  ]"  she  said,  "  how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you !  and  how  could  you  terrify  me  so !" 


In  answer  to  which,  he  said  nothing  at 
all,  but  stood  quite  still,  looking  at  her. 

"Did  you  come  to  meet  me?"  asked 
Dolly. 

Hugh  nodded,  and  muttered  something 
to  the  effect  that  he  had  been  waiting  for 
her,  and  had  expected  her  sooner. 

"  I  thought  it  likely  they  would  send," 
said  Dolly,  greatly  re-assured  by  this. 


"  Nobody  sent  me, '  was  his  sullen  an- 
swer.    "  I  came  of  my  own  accord." 

The  rough  bearing  of  this  fellow,  and 
his  wild,  uncouth  appearance,  had  often 
filled  the  girl  with  a  vague  apprehension 
even  when  other  jv^ople  were  by,  and  had 
occasioned  her  to  shrink  from  him  invnhui- 
tarily.  The  having  him  for  an  unbidden 
companion  in  so  solitary  a  place,  with  the 
darkness  fast  gathering  about  them,  re- 
newed and  even-  increased  the  alarm  she 
had  felt  at  first. 

If  his  manner  had  been  merely  dogged 


and  passively  fierce,  as  usual,  she  would 
have  had  no  greater  dislike  to  his  company 
than  she  always  felt  —  perhap;-!,  indeed, 
would  have  been  rather  glad  to  have  had 
him  at  hand.  But  there  was  something 
of  coarse  bold  admiration  in  his  look,  which 
terrified  her  very  much.  She  glanced 
timidly  towards  him,  uncertain  whether  to 
go  forward  or  retreat,  and  he  stood  gazmg 
at  her  like  a  handsome  satyr ;  and  so  they 
remained  for  some  short  time  without  stir- 
ring or  breaking  silence.  At  length  Dolly 
took  courage,  shot  past  him.  and  hurried  on. 


94 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  Why  do  you  spend  so  much  breath  in 
avoiding  me?"  said  Hugli,  accommodating 
his  pace  to  hers,  and  keeping  close  at  her 
side. 

"  I  wish  to  get  back  as  quickly  as  I  can, 
and  you  walk  too  near  me,"  answered 
Dolly. 

"  Too  near !"  said  Hugh,  stooping  over 
her  so  that  she  couid  feel  his  breath  upon 
her  foreiiead,  "  Why  too  near]  You're 
always  proud  to  me,  mistress." 

"  1  am  proud  to  no  one.  You  mistake 
me,"  answered  Dolly.  "Fall  back,  if  you 
please,  or  go  on." 

"  Nay,  mistress,"  he  rejoined,  endea- 
vouring to  draw  her  arm  through  his. 
"  I  '11  walk  with  you." 

She  released  herself,  and  clenching  her 
little  hand,  struck  him  with  right  good 
will.  At  this.  Maypole  Hugh  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter,  and  passing  his  arm  about 
her  waist,  held  her  in  his  strong  grasp  as 
easily  as  if  she  had  been  a  bird. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Well  done  mistress ! 
Strike  again.  You  shall  beat  my  face, 
and  tear  my  hair,  and  pluck  my  beard  up 
by  the  roots,  and  welcome,  for  the  sake  of 
your  bright  eyes.  Strike  again,  mistress. 
Do.     Ha,  ha,  ha!     I  like  it." 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  endeavouring 
with  both  her  hands  to  pu^h  him  offi  "  Let 
me  go  this  moment." 

"  You  had  as  good  be  kinder  to  me, 
Sweetlips,"  said  Hugh.  "  You  had,  in- 
deed. Come.  Tell  me  now.  Why  are 
you  always  so  proud  ]  I  don't  quarrel  with 
you  for  it.  I  love  you  when  you  're  proud. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  You  can't  hide  your  beauty 
from  a  poor  fellow  ;  that 's  a  comfort !" 

She  gave  him  no  answer,  but  as  lie  had 
not  yet  checked  her  progress,  continued  to 
press  forward  as  rapidly  as  she  could.  At 
length,  between  the  hurry  she  had  made, 
her  terror,  and  the  tightness  of  his  em- 
brace, her  strength  failed  her,  and  she 
could  go  no  further. 

"  Hugh,"  cried  the  panting  girl,  "  good 
Hugh ;  if  you  will  leave  me,  I  will  give 
you  anything  —  everything  I  have  —  and 
never  tell  one  word  of  this  to  any  living 
creature." 

"  You  had  best  not,"  he  answered. 
"  Harkye,  little  dove,  you  had  best  not 
All  about  here  know  me,  and  what  I  dare 
do  if  I  have  a  mind.  If  ever  you  are  go- 
ing to  toll,  stop  when  the  words  are  on 
your  lips,  and  think  of  the  mischief  you'll 
bring,  if  you  do,  upon  some  innocent  heads 
that  you  wouldn't  wish  to  hurt  a  hair  of  j 
Hring  trouble  on  me,  and  I  '11  bring  trouble  j 
and  something  more  on  them  in  return.  I  j 
care  no  more  for  them  than  for  so  many  I 
dogs;  not  so  much — why  shduKl  I  !  1 'd  j 
fcK/ner  kill   a  man  than   a  dog  any  day.  | 


I  've  never  been  sorry  for  a  man's  death  in 
all  my  life,  and  I  have  for  a  dog's." 

There  was  something  so  thoroughly 
savage  in  the  manner  of  these  expressions, 
iind  the  looks  and  gestures  by  which  they 
were  accompanied,  that  her  great  fear  of 
him  gave  her  new  strength,  and  enabled 
her  by  a  sudden  effort  to  extricate  herself 
and  run  fleetly  from  him.  But  Hugh  was 
as  nimble,  strong,  and  swift  of  foot,  as  any 
man  in  broad  England,  and  it  was  but  a 
fruitless  expenditure  of  energy,  for  he  had 
her  in  his  encircling  arms  again  before  she 
had  gone  a  hundred  yards. 

"Softly,  darling — gently — would  you  fly 
from  rough  Hugh,  that  loves  you  as  well 
as  any  drawing-room  gallant !" 

"  1  would,"  she  answered,  struggling  to 
free  herself  again.     "  I  will.     Help!" 

"  A  fine  for  crying  out,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Ha,  ha,  ha !  A  fine,  pretty  one,  from 
your  lips.     I  pay  myself!     Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"Help!  Help!  Help!"  As  she  shriek- 
ed with  the  utmost  violence  she  could 
exert,  a  shout  was  heard  in  answer,  and 
another,  and  another. 

"  Thank  Heaven !"'  cried  the  girl  in 
an  ecstasy.  "  Joe,  dear  Joe,  this  way 
Help!" 

Her  assailant  paused,  and  stood  irreso» 
lute  for  a  moment,  but  the  shouts  drawing 
nearer  and  coming  quick  upon  them,  forced 
him  to  a  speedy  decision.  He  released 
her,  whispered  with  a  menacing  look, 
"  Tell  him  ;  and  see  what  follows  !"  and 
leaping  the  hedge,  was  gone  in  an  instant. 
Dolly  darted  off,  and  fairly  ran  into  Joe 
Wil let's  open  arms. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  are  you  hurt  ] 
what  was  it]  who  was  it]  where  is  he] 
what  was  he  like!"  with  a  great  many 
encouraging  expressions  and  assurances  of 
safety,  were  the  first  words  Joe  poured 
forth.  But  poor  little  Dolly  was  so  breath- 
less and  terrified,  that  for  some  time  she 
was  quite  unable  to  answer  him,  and  hung 
upon  his  shoulder,  sobbing  and  crying  as 
if  her  heart  would  break. 

Joe  had  not  the  smallest  objection  to 
have  her  hanging  on  his  shoulder;  no,  not 
the  least,  though  it  crushed  the  cherry- 
coloured  ribbons  sadly,  and  put  the  smart 
little  hat  out  of  all  shape.  But  ho  couldn't 
bear  to  see  her  cry ;  it  went  to  his  very 
heart.  He  tried  to  console  her,  bent  over 
her,  whispered  to  her  —  some  say  kissed 
her,  but  that's  a  fible.  At  any  rate  he 
said  all  the  kind  and  tender  things  he 
could  think  of,  and  Dolly  let  him  go  on 
and  didn't  interrupt  him  once,  and  it  was 
a  good  ten  minutes  before  she  was  able  to 
raise  her  head  and  thank  him. 

"What  was  it  that  frightened  voul' 
said  Joe. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


A  man  whose  person  waa  unknown  to 
her  hai^  followed  her,  she  answered;  he 
began  by  begpiiig,  and  went  on  to  threats 
of  robbery,  which  he  was  on  the  point  of 
carrying'  into  execution,  and  would  have 
executed,  but  for  Joe's  timely  aid.  Tiie 
hesitation  and  confusion  with  which  she 
said  this,  Joe  attributed  to  the  fright  she 
had  sustained,  and  no  suspicion  of  the 
truth  occurred  to  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Stop  when  the  words  are  on  your 
lips."  A  hundred  times  that  nicrht,  and 
very  often  afterwards,  when  the  disclosure 
was  rising  to  her  tongue,  Dolly  thought  of 
that,  and  repressed  it.  A  deeply  rooted 
dread  of  the  man;  the  conviction  that  his 
ferocious  natore,  once  roused,  would  stop 
at  nothing;  and  the  strong  assurance  that 
if  she  impeached  him,  the  full  measure  of 
his  wrath  and  veng.eance  would  be  wreak- 
ed on  Joe,  who  had  preserved  her;  these 
were  considerations  she  had  not  the  cour- 
age to  overcome,  and  inducements  to 
eecresy  too  powerful  for  her  to  surmount. 

Joe,  for  his  part,  was  a  great  deal  too 
happy  to  inquire  very  curiously  into  the 
matter;  and  Dolly  being  yet  too  tremulous 
to  walk  without  assistance,  they  went  for- 
ward very  slowly,  and  in  his  mind  very 
pleasantly,  until  the  Maypole  lights  were 
near  at  hand,  twinkling  their  cheerful  wel- 
come, when  Dolly  stopped  suddenly  and 
with  a  half  scream  exclaimed, 

"The  letter!" 

"  What  letter?"  cried  Joe. 

"That  I  was  carrying  —  I  had  it  in  my 
hand.  My  bracelet  too,"  she  said,  clasp- 
ing her  wrist.     "  I  have  lost  them  both." 

"  Do  you  mean  just  now  !"  said  Joe. 

"Either  I  dropped  them  then,  or  they 
were  taken  from  me,"  answered  Dolly, 
vainly  searching  her  pocket  and  rustling 
her  dress.  "They  are  gone,  both  gone. 
What  an  unhappy  girl  I  am !"  With 
these  words  poor  Dolly,  who  to  do  her  jus- 
tice was  quite  as  sorry  for  the  loss  of  the 
letter  as  for  her  bracelet,  fell  a  crying 
again,  and  bemoaned  her  fate  most  mov- 
ingly. 

Joe  tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  as- 
surance that  directly  he  had  housed  her 
safely  in  the  Maypole,  he  would  return  to 
the  spot  with  a  lantern  (for  it  was  now 
quite  dark)  and  make  strict  search  for  the 
missing  articles,  which  there  was  great 
probability  of  his  finding,  as  it  was  not 
likely  that  anybody  had  passed  that  way 
since,  and  she  was  not  conscious  of  their 
having  been  forcibly  taken  from  her.  Dolly 
thanked  him  very  heartily  for.  this  offer, 
though  with  no  great  hope  of  his  quest 
being  successful ;  and  so,  with  many  la- 
mentations on  her  side,  and  many  hopeful 
•«ords  on  his,  and  much  weakness  on  the 


part  of  Dolly  and  much  tender  supporting 
on  the  part  of  Joe,  they  reached  tlie  May- 
pole bar  at  last,  where  the  locksmith  and 
his  wife  and  old  John  were  yet  keeping 
high  festival. 

Mr.  Willet  received  the  intelligence  of 
Dolly's  trouble  with  that  surprising  pre- 
sence of  mind  and  readiness  of  speech  for 
which  he  was  so  eminently  distinguished 
above  all  other  men.  Mrs,  Varden  ex- 
pressed her  sympathy  for  her  daughter's 
distress  by  scolding  her  roundly  for  being 
so  late  ;  and  the  honest  locksmith  divided 
himself  between  condoling  with  and  kiss- 
ing Dolly,  and  shaking  hands  heartily  with 
Joe,  whom  he  could  not  sufficiently  praise 
or  thank. 

In  reference  to  this  latter  point,  old  John 
was  far  from  agreeing  with  his  friend ;  for 
besides  that  he  by  no  means  approved  of 
an  adventurous  spirit  in  the  abstract,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  if  his  son  and  heir 
had  been  seriously  damaged  in  a  scufHe, 
the  consequences  would  assuredly  have 
been  expensive  and  ii>convenient,  and 
might  perhaps  have  proved  detrimental  to 
the  Maypole  business.  Wherefore,  and 
because  he  looked  with  no  favourable  eye 
upon  young  girls,  but  rather  considered 
that  they  and  the  whole  female  sex  were 
a  kind  of  nonsensical  mistake  on  the  part 
of  Nature,  he  took  occasion  to  retire  and 
shake  his  head  in  private  at  the  boiler, 
inspired  by  which  silent  oracle,  he  waa 
moved  to  give  Joe  various  stealthy  nudges 
with  his  elbow,  as  a  parental  reproof  and 
gentle  admonition  to  mind  his  own  busi- 
ness and  not  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

Joe,  however,  took  down  the  lantern  and 
lighted  it ;  and  arming  himself  with  a 
stout  stick,  asked  whether  Hugh  was  in 
the  stable. 

"  He 's  lying  asleep  before  the  kitchen 
fire,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet.  "  What  do  you 
want  with  him?" 

"I  want  him  to  come  with  me  to  look 
after  this  bracelet  and  letter,"  answered 
Joe.     "  Halloa  there  !  Hugh  !" 

Dolly  turned  pale  as  death,  and  felt  as 
if  she  must  faint  forthwith.  After  a  few 
moments,  Hugh  came  staggering  in, 
stretching  himself  and  yawning  accord- 
ing to  custom,  and  presenting  every  ap- 
pearance of  having  been  roused  from  a 
sound  nap. 

"Here,  sleepy-head,"  said  Joe,  giving 
him  the  lantern.  "  Carry  this,  and  bring 
the  dog,  and  that  small  cudgel  of  yours. 
And  woe  betide  the  fellow  if  we  comt? 
upon  him." 

"What  fellow?"  growled  Hugh,  ru': 
bing  his  eyes  and  shakmg  himself. 

"  What  fellow  !"  returned  Joe,  who  wan 
in  a  state  of  great  valour  and  bustle    "a 


96 


BARN.*  By    RUDGE. 


fellow  ynii  oujjht  to  know  of,  and  be  more 
alive  iibout.  It's  well  for  the  like  of  you, 
lazy  giant  tiiat  you  are,  to  be  snoring  your 
time  away  in  chimney-corners,  when  hon- 
est men's  daughters  can't  cross  even  our 
quiet  meadows  at  nightfall  without  being 
set  upon  by  footpads,  and  frightened  out 
of  their  precious  lives." 

"  They  never  rob  me,"  cried  Hugh,  with 
a  laugh.  "  I  have  got  nothing  to  lose. 
But  I  'd  as  lief  knock  them  at  head  as  any 
other  men.     How  many  are  there  V 

"  Only  one,"  said  Dolly,  faintly,  for 
everybody  looked  at  her. 

"  And  what  was  he  like,  mistress?"  said 
Hugh,  with  a  glance  at  young  Willet,  so 
slight  and  momentary  that  the  scowl  it 
conveyed  was  lost  on  all  but  her.  "  About 
my  height!" 

"  Not — not  so  tall,"  Dolly  replied,  scarce 
knowing  what  she  said. 

"  His  dress,"  said  Hugh,  looking  at  her 
keenly,  "like — like  any  of  ours  now?  I 
know  all  the  people  hereabouts,  and  maybe 
could  give  a  guess  at  the  man,  if  I  had 
anything  to  guide  me." 

Dolly  faltered  and  turned  paler  yet ; 
then  answered  that  he  was  wrapped  in  a 
loose  coat  and  had  his  face  hidden  by  a 
handkerchief,  and  that  she  could  give  no 
other  description  of  him. 

"  You  wouldn't  know  him  if  you  saw 
him  then,  belike?"  said  Hugh,  with  a 
malicious  grin. 

"  I  should  not,"  answered  Dolly,  burst- 
ing into  tears  again.  "  I  don't  wish  to  see 
him.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  him.  I 
can't  talk  about  him  any  more.  Don't  go 
to  look  for  these  things,  Mr.  Joe,  pray 
don't.  I  entreat  you  not  to  go  with  that 
man." 

"  Not  to  go  with  me !"  cried  Hugh. 
'•I'm  too  rough  for  them  all.  They're 
all  afraid  of  me.  Why,  bless  you  mis- 
tress, I  've  the  tenderest  heart  alive.  I 
love  all  the  ladies  ma'am,"  said  Hugh, 
turning  to  the  locksmith's  wife. 

Mrs.  Varden  opined  that  if  he  did,  he 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself;  such 
sentiments  being  more  consistent  (so  she 
argued)  with  a  benighted  Mussulman  or 
wild  Islander  than  with  a  staunch  Protes- 
tant. Arguing  from  this  imperfect  state 
of  his  morals,  Mrs.  Varden  further  opined 
that  he  had  never  studied  the  Manual. 
Hugh  admitting  that  he  never  had,  and 
moreover  that  lie  couldn't  read,  Mrs.  Var- 
den declared  with  much  severity,  that  he 
ought  to  be  even  more  ashamed  of  himself 
than  before,  and  strongly  recommended 
him  to  save  up  liis  pocket-money  for  the 
purchase  of  one,  and  further  to-teach  him- 
«eF  the  contents  with  all  convenient  dili- 
Ifence      She  was  still  pursuing  this  train 


of  discourse,  when  Hugh,  somewhat  un- 
ceremoniously and  irreverently,  followed 
his  young  master  out,  and  left  her  to  edify 
the  rest  of  the  coinpir.y.  This  she  pro- 
ceeded to  do,  and  finding  that  Mr.  Willet's 
eyes  were  fi.xed  upon  her  with  an  appear- 
ance of  deep  attention,  gradually  address- 
ed the  whole  of  her  discourse  to  him, 
whom  she  entertained  with  a  moral  and 
theological  lecture  of  considerable  length, 
in  the  conviction  that  great  workings  were 
taking  place  in  his  spirit.  The  simple 
truth  was,  however,  that  Mr.  Willet,  al- 
though his  eyes  were  wide  open  and  he 
saw  a  woman  before  him  whose  head  by 
long  and  steady  looking  at  seemed  to  grow 
bigger  and  bigger  until  it  filled  the  whole 
bar,  was  to  all  other  intents  and  purposes 
fast  asleep;  and  so  sat  leaning  back  in  his 
chair  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  until 
his  son's  return  caused  him  to  wake  up 
with  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  faint  impression 
that  he  had  been  dreaming  about  pickled 
pork  and  greens — a  vision  of  his  slumbers 
which  was  no  doubt  referable  to  the  cir- 
cumstance of  Mrs.  Varden's  having  fre- 
quently pronounced  the  word  "Grace" 
with  much  emphasis;  which  word,  enter- 
ing the  portals  of  Mr.  Willet's  brain  as 
they  stood  ajar,  and  coupling  itself  with 
the  words  "before  meat,"  which  were 
there  ranging  about,  did  in  time  suggest 
a  particular  kind  of  meat  together  with  that 
description  of  vegetable  which  is  usually 
its  companion. 

The  search  was  wholly  unsuccessful. 
Joe  had  groped  along  the  path  a  dozen 
times,  and  among  the  grass,  and  in  the  dry 
ditch,  and  in  the  hedge,  but  all  in  vain. 
Dolly,  who  was  quite  inconsolable  for  her 
loss,  wrote  a  note  to  Miss  Haredale,  giving 
her  the  same  account  of  it  that  she  had 
given  at  the  Maypole,  which  Joe  undertook 
to  deliver  as  soon  as  the  family  were  stir- 
ring next  day.  That  done,  they  sat  down 
to  tea  in  the  bar,  where  there  was  an  nn- 
common  display  of  buttered  toast,  and — in 
order  that  they  might  not  grow  faint  for 
want  of  sustenance,  and  might  have  a  de- 
cent halting-place  or  half-way  house  be- 
tween dinner  and  supper  —  a  few  savoury 
trifles  in  the  shape  of  great  rashers  of 
broiled  ham,  which  being  well  cured,  done 
to  a  turn,  and  smoking  hot,  sent  forth  a 
tempting  and  delicious  fragrance. 

^Irs.  Varden  was  seldom  very  Protest- 
ant at  meals,  unless  it  happened  that  they 
were  under-done,  or  over-done,  or  indeed 
that  anything  occurred  to  put  lier  out  of 
humour,  tier  spirits  rose  considerably  on 
beholding  these  goodly  preparations,  and 
from  the  nothingness  of  good  works,  she 
pas.«ed  to  the  somethingness  of  ham  and 
toast  with  great  cheerfulness.     Nay,  under 


DARNABY    RUDGE. 


9? 


the  influence  of  these  wholesome  stimu- 
lants, she  sharply  reproved  her  dauj^htcr 
for  being  low  and  despondent  (whicli  she 
considered  an  unacceptable  frame  of  mind) 
and  remarked,  as  she  held  her  own  plate 
for  a  fresh  supply,  that  it  would  be  well  for 
Dolly  who  pined  over  the  loss  of  a  toy  and 
a  sheet  of  paper,  if  she  would  reflect  upon 
the  voluntary  sacrifices  of  the  missionaries 
in  foreign  parts  who  lived  chiefly  on  sa- 
lads. 

The  proceedings  of  such  a  day  occasion 
various  fluctuations  in  the  human  ther- 
mometer, and  especially  in  instruments  so 
sensitively  and  delicately  constructed  as 
Mrs,  Varden.  Thus,  at  dinner  Mrs.  V. 
stood  at  summer  heat;  genial,  smiling,  and 
delightful.  After  dinner,  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  wine,  she  went  up  at  least  halt-a- 
dozen  degrees,  and  was  perfectly  enchant- 
ing. As  its  efiect  subsided,  she  fell  rapid- 
ly, went  to  sleep  for  an  hour  or  so  at  tem- 
perate, and  woke  at  something  below  freez- 
ing. Now  she  was  at  summer  lieat  again, 
in  the  shade :  and  when  tea  was  over,  and 


old  John,  producing  a  bottle  of  cordial  from 
one  of  the  oaken  cases,  insisted  on  her  sip- 
ping two  glasses  thereof  in  slow  succession, 
she  stood  steadily  at  ninety  for  one  hour 
and  a  quarter.  Profiting  by  experience, 
the  locksmith  took  advantage  of  this  genial 
weather  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  the  porcli, 
and  in  consequence  of  this  prudent  manage- 
ment, he  was  fully  prepared,  wiien  the  glass 
went  down  again,  to  start  homewards  di- 
rectly. 

The  horse  was  accordingly  put  in,  and 
the  chaise  brought  round  to  the  door.  Joe, 
who  would  on  no  account  be  dissuaded  from 
escorting  tiiem  until  they  had  passed  the 
most  dreary  and  solitary  part  of  the  road, 
led  out  the  grey  mare  at  the  same  time; 
and  having  helped  Dolly  into  her  seat 
(more  happiness!)  sprung  gaily  into  the 
saddle.  Then,  after  many  good  nights, 
and  admonitions  to  wrap  up,  and  glancing 
of  lights,  and  handing  in  of  cloaks  and 
shawls,  the  chaise  rolled  away,  and  Joe 
trotted  beside  it — on  Dolly's  side,  no  doubt, 
and  pretty  close  to  the  wheel,  too. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SECOND. 


It  was  a  fine  bright  night,  and  for  all 
her  lowness  of  spirits,  Dolly  kept  looking 
up  at  the  stars  in  a  manner  so  bewitching 
(and  she  knew  it!)  that  Joe  was  clean  out 
of  his  senses  and  plainly  showed  that  if 
ever  a  man  were — not  to  say  over  head  and 
ears,  but  over  the  Monument  and  the  top  of 
Saint  Paul's  in  love,  that  man  was  himself. 
The  road  was  a  very  good  one ;  not  at  all 
a  jolting  road,  or  an  uneven  one;  and  yet 
Dolly  held  the  side  of  the  chaise  with  one 
little  hand,  all  the  way.  If  there  had  been 
an  executioner  behind  him  with  an  uplifted 
axe  ready  to  chop  off  his  head  if  he  touched 
that  liand,  Joe  couldn't  have  helped  doing 
it.  From  putting  his  own  hand  upon  it  as 
if  by  chance,  and  taking  it  away  again  after 
a  minute  or  so,  he  got  to  riding  along  with- 
out taking  it  off  at  all ;  as  if  he,  the  escort, 
were  bound  to  do  that  as  an  important  part 
of  his  duty,  and  had  come  out  for  the  pur- 
pose. The  most  curious  circumstance  about 
this  little  incident  was,  that  Dolly  didn't 
seem  to  know  of  it.  She  looked  so  inno- 
cent agd  unconscious  when  she  turned  her 
eyes  on  Joe,  that  it  was  quite  provoking. 

She  talked  though;  talked  about  her 
fright,  and  about  Joe's  coming  up  to  rescue 
her,  and  about  her  gratitude,  and  about  her 
fear  that  she  might  not  have  thanked  him 
en<iu<rh,  and  about  their  always  bein? 
friends  from  that  time  forth — and  about  al! 


that  sort  of  thing.  And  when  Joe  said,  not 
friends,  he  hoped,  Dolly  was  quite  surprised, 
and  said  not  enemies,  she  hoped  ;  and  when 
Joe  said,  couldn't  they  be  something  much 
better  than  either,  Dolly  all  of  a  sudden 
found  out  a  star  which  was  brighter  than 
all  the  other  stars,  and  begged  to  call  his 
attention  to  the  same,  and  was  ten  thousand 
times  more  innocent  and  unconscious  than 
ever. 

In  this  manner  they  travelled  along,  talk- 
ing very  little  above  a  whisper,  and  wisli- 
insj  the  road  could  be  stretched  out  to  soiiio 
dozen  times  its  natural  length  —  at  le;i.-t 
that  was  Joe's  desire — when,  as  they  weru 
getting  clear  of  the  forest  and  emerging  on 
the  more  frequented  road,  they  heard  be- 
hind them  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  at  a 
round  trot,  which  growing  rapidly  louder 
as  it  drew  nearer,  elicited  a  scream  from 
Mrs.  Varden,  and  the  cry  "a  friend  !"  from 
the  rider,  who  now  came  panting  up,  and 
checked  his  horse  beside  them. 

"This  man  again!"  cried  Dolly,  shud- 
dering. 

"Hugh  !"  said  Joe.  "  What  errand  are 
you  upon  ]" 

"  1  come  to  ride  back  with  you,"  he  an- 
swered, glancing  covertly  at  the  lock- 
smith's daughter.     "  He  sent  me." 

"  My  father!"  said  poor  .Toe;  adding  un- 
der his  breath,  with  a  very  unfilial  apostxw 


08 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


phe,  "  Will  ho  never  think  me  man  enougli 
to  take  care  of  myself!" 

"Ay!"  returned  Hugh  to  the  first  part 
of  the  inquiry.  "  The  roads  are  not  safe 
just  now,  he  says,  and  you'd  better  have  a 
companion." 

"  Hide  on,  then,"  said  Joe.  "  I  'm  not 
goinaf  to  turn  yet." 

Huirh  complied,  and  they  went  on  again. 
It  was  his  whim  or  humour  to  ride  imme- 
diately before  the  chaise,  and  from  this  po- 
sition he  constantly  turned  his  head,  and 
looked  back.  Dolly  felt  that  he  looked  at 
her,  but  she  averted  her  eyes  and  feared  to 
raise  them  once,  so  great  was  the  dread 
with  which  he  had  inspired  her. 

This  interruption,  and  the  consequent 
wakefulness  of  Mrs.  Varden,  who  had  been 
nodding  in  her  sleep  up  to  this  point,  ex- 
cept for  a  minute  or  two  at  a  time,  when 
she  roused  herself  to  scold  the  locksmith 
for  audaciously  taking  hold  of  her  to  pre- 
vent her  nodding  herself  out  of  the  chaise, 
put  a  restraint  upon  the  whispered  conver- 
sation, and  made  it  difficult  of  resumption. 
Indeed,  before  they  had  gone  another  mile, 
Gabriel  stopped  at  his  wife's  desire,  and 
that  good  lady  protested  she  would  not  hear 
of  Joe's  going  a  step  further  on  any  ac- 
count whatever.  It  was  in  vain  for  Joe  to 
protest  on  the  other  hand,  that  he  was  by 
no  means  tired,  and  would  turn  back  pre- 
sently, and  would  see  them  safely  past  such 
and  such  a  point,  and  so  forth.  Mrs.  Var- 
den was  obdurate,  and  being  so,  was  not  to 
be  overcome  by  mortal  agency. 

"  Good  night — if  I  must  say  it,"  said  Joe, 
Borrowfuily. 

"Good  night,"  said  Dolly.  She  would 
have  added,  "  Take  care  of  that  man,  and 
pray  don't  trust  him,"  but  he  had  turned 
his  horse's  head,  and  was  standing  close  to 
them.  She  had  therefore  nothing  for  it  but  to 
6uff"er  Joe  to  give  her  hand  a  gentle  squeeze, 
and  when  the  chaise  had  gone  on  for  some 
distance,  to  look  back  and  wave  it,  as  he 
Ptill  lingered  on  the  spot  where  they  had 
parted,  with  the  tall  dark  figure  of  Hugh 
beside  him. 

What  she  thought  about,  going  home; 
and  whether  the  coachmaker  held  as  fa- 
vourable a  place  in  her  meditations  as  he 
had  occupied  in  the  morning,  is  unknown. 
They  reached  home  at  last — at  last,  fur  it 
was  a  long  way,  made  none  the  shorter  by 
Mrs.  Varden's  grumbling.  Miggs  hearing 
the  sound  of  wheels  was  at  the  door  imme- 
diately. 

•'  Here  they  are,  Simmun  !  Here  they 
are!"  cried  Miggs,  clapping  her  hands, 
and  issuing  forth  to  help  her  mistress  to 
alight.  "  Bring  a  chair,  Simmun.  Now, 
tn't  you  the  better  for  it,  mim  !    Don't  you 


feel  more  yourself  than  you  would  have 
done  if  you'd  have  slopped  at  homf  !  Oh, 
gracious  !  how  cold  you  are !  Goodness 
me,  sir,  she'.s  a  perfect  heap  of  ict'." 

"  1  can 't  help  it,  my  good  iriri.  You  had 
better  take  her  in  to  the  fire,"  said  the  lock- 
smith. 

"  Master  sounds  unfeeling,  mim,"  said 
Miggs,  in  a  tone  of  commiseration,  "but 
such  is  not  his  intentions,  I  'm  sure.  Af- 
ter what  he  has  seen  of  you  this  day,  I 
never  will  believe  but  that  he  has  a  ileal 
more  affection  in  his  heart  than  to  speak 
unkind.  Come  in  and  sit  yourself  down  by 
the  fire ;  there 's  a  good  dear — do." 

Mrs.  Varden  complied.  The  locksmith 
followed  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and 
Mr.  Tappertit  trundled  off"  with  the  chaise 
to  a  neighbouring  stable. 

"  Martha,  my  dear,"  said  the  locksmith, 
when  they  reached  the  parlour,  "  if  you'll 
look  to  Dolly  yourself,  or  let  somebody  else 
do  it,  perhaps  it  will  be  only  kind  and  rea- 
sonable. She  has  been  frightened,  you 
know,  and  is  not  at  all  well  to-night." 

In  fact,  Dolly  had  thrown  herself  upon 
the  sofa,  quite  regardless  of  all  the  little 
finery  of  which  she  had  been  so  proud  in 
the  morning,  and  with  her  fiice  buried  in 
her  hands  was  crying  very  much. 

At  first  sight  of  this  phenomenon  (for 
Dolly  was  by  no  means  accustomed  to  dis- 
plays of  this  sort,  rather  learning  from  her 
mother's  example  to  avoid  them  as  much 
as  possible)  Mrs.  Varden  expressed  her  b.">- 
lief  that  never  was  any  woman  so  beset  as 
she  ;  that  her  life  was  a  continued  scene 
of  trial;  that  whenever  she  was  disposed 
to  be  well  and  cheerful,  so  sure  were  the 
people  around  her  to  throw,  by  some  means 
or  other,  a  damp  upon  her  spirits;  and  that, 
as  she  had  enjoyed  herself  that  day,  and 
Heaven  knew  it  was  very  seldom  she  did 
enjoy  herself,  so  she  was  now  to  pay  the 
penalty.  To  all  such  propositions  Miggs 
assented  freely.  Poor  Dolly,  however, 
grew  none  the  better  for  these  restoratives, 
but  rather  worse,  indeed  ;  and  seeing  that 
she  was  really  ill,  both  Mrs.  Varden  and 
Miggs  were  moved  to  compassion,  and 
tended  her  in  earnest. 

But  even  then,  their  very  kindness  shaped 
itself  into  their  usual  course  of  policy,  and 
though  Dolly  was  in  a  swoon,  it  was  ren- 
dered clear  to  the  meanest  capacity,  'hat 
Mrs.  Varden  was  the  sufferer.  Tims  when 
Dolly  began  to  get  a  little  better,  and  pass- 
ed into  that  stage  in  which  matrons  hold 
that  remonstrance  and  argument  may  be 
succes-sfully  applied,  her  mother  represent- 
ed to  her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  if  she 
had  been  flurried  and  worried  that  day,  she 
must  remember  it  was  the  common  lot  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


Humanity,  and  in  especial  of  womankind, 
who  tliroufrh  the  whole  of  their  existence 
must  expect  no  loss,  and  were  bound  to 
make  up  their  minds  to  meek  endurance 
and  patient  resignation.  Mrs.  Varden  en- 
treated iier  to  remember  that  one  of  these 
days  siie  would,  in  all  probability,  have  to 
do  violence  to  her  feelinors  so  far  as  to  be 
married ;  and  that  marriajje,  as  she  might 
see  every  day  of  her  life  (and  truly  she 
did)  was  a  state  requiring  great  fortitude 
and  forbearance.  She  represented  to  her 
in  lively  colours,  that  if  she  (Mrs.  V.)  had 
not,  in  steering  her  course  through  this 
vale  of  tears,  been  supported  by  a  strong 
principle  of  duty  which  alone  upheld  and 
prevented  her  from  drooping,  she  must 
have  been  in  her  grave  many  years  ago ; 
in  which  case  she  desired  to  know  what 
would  have  become  of  that  errant  spirit 
(meaning  the  locksmith),  of  whose  eye  she 
was  the  very  apple,  and  in  whose  path  she 
was,  as  it  were,  a  shining  light  and  guiding 
star  ] 

Miss  Miggs  also  put  in  her  word  to  the 
same  effect.  She  said  that  indeed  and  in- 
deed Miss  Dolly  might  take  pattern  by  her 
blessed  mother,  who,  she  always  had  said, 
and  always  would  say,  though  she  were  to 
be  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered  for  it  next 
minute,  was  the  mildest,  amiablest,  for- 
givingest-spirited,  longest-sufferingest  fe- 
male as  ever  she  could  have  believed  ;  the  , 
mere  narration  of  whose  excellencies  had  I 
worked  such  a  wholesome  change  in  the 
mind  of  her  own  sister-in-law,  that,  where- 
as, before,  she  and  her  husband  lived  like 
cat  and  dog,  and  were  in  the  habit  of  ex- 
changing brass  candlestick.«,  pot-lids,  flat- 
irons,  and  other  such  strong  resentments, 
they  were  now  the  happiest  and  affection- 
atest  couple  upon  earth ;  as  could  be  proved 
any  day  on  application  at  Golden  Lion 
Court,  number  twenty-sivin,  second  bell- 
handle  on  the  right-hand  post.  After 
glancing  at  herself  as  a  comparative  worth- 
less vessel,  but  still  as  one  of  some  desert, 
she  besought  her  to  bear  in  mind  that  her 
aforesaid  dear  and  only  mother  was  of  a 
weakly  constitution  and  excitable  temper- 
ament, who  had  constantly  to  sustain  afflic- 
tions in  domestic  life,  compared  with  which 
thieves  and  robbers  were  as  nothing,  and 
yet  never  sunk  down  or  gave  way  to  de- 
spair or  wrath,  but,  in  prize-fighting  phrase- 
ology, always  came  up  to  time  with  a  cheer- 
ful countenance,  and  went  in  to  win  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  When  Miggs  had 
finished  her  solo,  her  mistress  struck  in 
again,  and  the  two  together  performed  a 
duet  to  the  same  purpose ;  the  burden  be- 
ing, that  Mrs.  Varden  was  persecuted  per- 
fection, and  Mr.  Varden,  as  the  representa- 1 


tive  of  mankind  in  that  apartment,  a  crea- 
ture of  vicious  and  brutal  iiabits,  utterly 
insensible  to  the  blessings  he  enjoyed.  Of 
so  refined  a  character,  indeed,  was  their 
talent  of  assault  under  the  mask  of  sym- 
pathy, that,  when  Dolly,  recovering,  em- 
braced her  father  tenderly,  as  in  vmdication 
of  his  goodness,  Mrs,  Varden  expressed  her 
solemn  hope  that  this  would  be  a  lesson  to 
him  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  and  that 
he  would  do  some  little  justice  to  a  woman's 
nature  ever  afterwards  —  in  which  aspira- 
tion Miss  Miggs,  by  divers  sniffs  and 
coughs,  more  significant  than  the  longest 
oration,  expressed  her  entire  concurrence. 

But  the  great  joy  of  Miggs's  heart  was, 
that  she  not  only  picked  up  a  full  account 
of  what  had  happened,  but  had  the  exqui- 
site delight  of  conveying  it  to  Mr,  Tapper- 
tit  for  his  jealousy  and  torture.  For  that 
gentleman,  on  account  of  Dolly's  indisposi- 
tion, had  been  requested  to  take  his  supper 
in  the  workshop,  and  it  was  conveyed  thi- 
ther by  Miss  Miggs's  own  fair  hands. 

"Oh,  Simmun!"  said  the  young  lady, 
"  such  goings  on  to-day  !  Oh,  gracious  me, 
Simmun  !" 

Mr.  Tappertit,  who  was  not  in  the  best 
of  humours,  and  who  disliked  Miss  Miggs 
more  when  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  heart 
and  panted  for  breath  than  at  any  other 
time,  as  her  deficiency  of  outline  was  most 
apparent  under  such  circumstances,  eyed 
her  over  in  his  loftiest  style,  and  deigned 
to  express  no  curiosity  whatever. 

"I  never  heard  the  like,  nor  nobody 
else,"  pursued  Miggs.  "  The  idea  of  inter- 
fering with  her.  What  people  can  see  in 
her  to  make  it  worth  their  while  to  do  so, 
that's  the  joke — he,  he,  he!" 

Finding  there  was  a  lady  in  the  case, 
Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily  requested  his  fair 
friend  to  be  more  explicit,  and  demanded 
to  know  what  she  meant  by  "  her." 

"Why,  that  Dolly,"  said  Miggs,  with 
an  extremely  sharp  emphasis  on  the  name. 
"But,  oh,  upon  my  word  and  honour,  young 
Joseph  Willet  is  a  brave  one;  and  he  do 
deserve  her,  that  he  do." 

"  Woman  !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  jumping 
off  the  counter  on  which  he  was  seated ; 
"  beware !" 

"My  stars,  Simmun!"  cried  Miggs,  in 
affected  astonishment.  "  You  frighten  me 
to  death  !     What 's  the  matter  ]" 

"  There  are  strings,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit, 
flourishing  his  bread-and- cheese  knife  in 
the  air,  "in  the  human  heart  that  had  bet- 
ter not  be  vibrated.  That's  what's  the 
matter." 

"  Oh,  very  well  —  if  you  're  in  a  huff," 
cried  Miggs,  turning  away, 

"  Huff  or  no  huff,"  said  Mr,  Tappertit, 


100 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


detaininfr  her  by  the  wrist.  "What  do 
you  mean,  Jezebel  1  What  were  you  going 
to  say  !     Answer  me !" 

Notwithstanding  this  uncivil  exhortation, 
Migjrs  gladly  did  as  she  was  required  ;  and 
told  him  how  that  their  young  mistress, 
being  alone  in  the  meadows  after  dark,  had 
been  attacked  by  three  or  four  tall  men, 
who  would  have  certainly  borne  her  away 
and  perhaps  murdered  her,  but  for  the 
timely  arrival  of  Joseph  Willet,  who  with 
his  own  single  hand  put  them  all  to  flight, 
and  rescued  her;  to  the  lasting  admiration 
of  his  fellow-creatures  generally,  and  to 
the  eternal  love  and  gratitude  of  Dolly 
Varden. 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  fetch- 
ing a  long  breath  wlien  the  tale  was  told, 
and  rubbing  his  hair  up  till  it  stood  stifl' 
and  straight  on  end  all  over  his  head. 
"His  days  are  numbered." 

"  Oh,  Simmun !" 


"I  tell  you,"  said  the  'prentice,  "his 
days  are  numbered.  Leave  me.  Get  along 
with  you." 

Miggs  departed  at  his  bidding,  but  less 
because  of  his  bidding  than  because  she 
desired  to  chuckle  in  the  street.  When 
she  had  given  vent  to  her  satisfaction,  she 
returned  to  the  parlour;  where  the  lock- 
smith, stimulated  by  quietness  and  Toby, 
had  become  talkative,  and  was  disposed 
to  take  a  cheerful  review  of  the  occur- 
rences of  the  day.  But  Mrs.  Varden, 
whose  practical  religion  (as  is  not  uncom- 
mon) was  usually  of  the  retrospective  or- 
der, cut  him  short  by  declaiming  on  the 
sinfulness  of  such  junketings,  and  holding 
that  it  was  high  time  to  go  to  bed.  To  bed 
therefore  she  withdrew,  with  an  as[iect 
as  grim  and  gloomy  as  that  of  the  May- 
pole's own  state  couch ;  and  to  bed  the  rest 
of  the  establishment  soon  afterwards  re- 
paired. 


BAllNABY    RUDGE. 


ini 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-THIRD. 


TwiMGHT  had  frivpn  place  to  night  some 
hours,  and  it  was  higii  noon  in  those  quar- 
ters of  the  town  in  which  "  the  world" 
condescended  to  dwell — the  world  being 
then,  as  now,  of  very  limited  dimensions 
and  easily  lodged — when  Mr.  Chester  re- 
clined upon  a  sofa  in  a  dressing-room  in 
the  Temple,  entertaining  himself  with  a 
book. 

He  was  dressing,  as  it  seemed,  by  easy 
stages,  and  having  performed  half  the  jour- 
ney was  taking  a  long  rest.  Completely 
attired  as  to  his  legs  and  feet  in  the  trim- 
mest fashion  of  the  day,  he  had  yet  the  re- 
mainder of  his  toilet  to  perform.  The  coat 
was  stretched,  like  a  refined  scarecrow,  on 
its  separate  horse;  the  waistcoat  was  dis- 
played to  the  best  advantage :  the  various 
ornamental  articles  of  dress  were  severally 
set  out  in  most  alluring  order;  and  yet  he 
lay  dangling  his  legs  between  the  sofa  and 
the  ground,  as  intent  upon  his  book  as  if 
there  were  nothing  but  bed  before  him. 

"  Upon  my  honour,"  he  said,  at  length 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  was  reflecting  seriously  on 
what  he  had  read  ;  "  upon  my  honour,  the 
most  masterly  compositioi|M^e  J^st  deli- 
cate thoughts,  the-flftest  crfcfe  of  morality, 
and  the  most  gentlemanly  sentinfients  in 
the  universe  !  Ah,  Ned,  N(?a,  if  ySu  would 
but  form  your  mind  by  such  precepts,  we 
should  have  but  one  common  feeling  on 
every  subject  that  could  possibly  arise  be- 
tween us !" 

This  apostrophe  \\^s  addressed,  like  the 
rest  of  his  remarks,  to  empty  air:  for  Ed- 
ward was  not  presen^'and  the  father  was 
quite  alone. 

"  My  Lord  Chesterfifeld,"  he  said,  press- 
ing his  hand  tenderly  upon  the  book  as  he 
laid  it  down,  "  if  I  could  have  profited  by 
your  genius  soon  enough  to  have  formed 
my  son  on  the  model  you  have  left  to  all 
wise  fathers,  both  he  and  I  would  have  been 
rich  men.  Shakspeare  was  undoubtedly 
very  fine  in  his  way;  Milton  good,  though 
prosy;  Lord  Bacon  deep,  and  decidedly 
knowing;  but  the  writer  who  should  be 
his  country's  pride,  is  my  Lord  Chester- 
field." 

He  became  thoughtful  again,  and  the 
toothpick  was  in  requisition. 

"  I  thought  I  was  tolerably  accomplished 
as  a  man  of  the  world,"  he  continued.  "  I 
flittered  myself  that  I  was  pretty  well 
versed  in  all  those  little  arts  and  graces 
which  distinguish  men  of  the  world  from 
Doors  and  peasants,  and  separate  their  char- 


acter from  those  intensely  vulgar  senti- 
ments  which  are  called  the  national  char- 
acter. Apart  from  any  natural  preposses- 
sion in  my  favour,  I  believe  I  was.  Still, 
in  every  page  of  this  enlightened  writer, 
I  find  some  captivating  hypocrisy  which 
has  never  occurred  to  me  before,  or  some 
superlative  piece  of  selfishness  to  which  I 
was  utterly  a  stranger.  I  should  quite 
blush  for  myself  before  this  stupendous 
creature,  if,  remembering  his  precepts,  one 
might  blush  at  anything.  An  amazing 
man  !  a  nobleman,  indeed  !  Any  King  or 
Queen  may  make  a  Lord,  but  only  the 
Devil  himself — and  the  Graces — can  make 
a  Chesterfield." 

Men  who  are  thoroughly  false  and  hol- 
low, seldom  try  to  hide  those  vices  from 
themselves;  and  yet  in  the  very  act  of 
avowing  them,  they  lay  claim  to  the  vir- 
tues they  feign  most  to  despise.  "  For,"  say 
they,  "this  is  honesty,  this  is  truth.  All 
mankind  are  like  us,  but  they  have  not  the 
candour  to  avow  it."  The  more  they  af- 
fect to  deny  the  existence  of  any  sincerity 
in  the  world,  the  more  they  would  be 
thought  to  possess  it  in  its  boldest  shape, 
and  this  is  an  unconscious  compliment  to 
Truth  on  the  part  of  these  philosophers, 
which  will  turn  the  laugh  against  them  to 
the  Day  of  Judgment. 

Mr.  Chester,  having  extolled  his  favour- 
ite author  as  above  recited,  took  up  the 
bpok  again  in  the  excess  of  his  admiration 
and  was  composing  himself  for  a  further 
perusal  of  its  sublime  morality,  when  he 
was  disturbed  by  a  noise  at  the  outer  door; 
occasioned,  as  it  seemed,  by  the  endeavours 
of  his  servant  to  obstruct  the  entrance  of 
some  unwelcome  visiter. 

"  A  late  hour  for  an  importunate  credit- 
or," he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows  with  as 
indolent  an  expression  of  wonder  as  if  the 
noise  were  in  the  street,  and  one  with 
which  he  had  not  the  smallest  personal 
concern.  "  Much  after  their  accustomed 
time.  The  usual  pretence  I  suppose.  No 
doubt  a  heavy  payment  to  make  up  to-mor- 
row. Poor  fellow,  he  loses  time,  and  time 
is  money,  as  the  good  proverb  says — I  ne- 
ver found  it  out  though.  Well.  What 
now  ]     You  know  I  am  not  at  home." 

"A  man,  Sir,"  replied  the  servant,  who 
was  to  the  full  as  cool  and  negligent  in  his 
way  as  his  master,  "  has  brought  home  th6 
riding-whip  you  lost  the  other  day,  I  told 
him  you  were  out,  but  he  said  he  was  to 
wait  while  I  brought  it  in,  and  wouldn't 
go  till  I  did." 


iU2 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  He  was  quite  right,"  returned  his  mas- 
ter, "  and  you  're  a  blockhead,  possessing 
DO  judgment  or  discretion  whatever.  Tell 
nini  to  come  in,  and  soe  that  he  rubs  his 
shoes  for  exactly  five  minutes  first." 

The  man  laid  the  whip  on  a  chair,  and 
withdrew.  The  mas^ter,  who  had  only 
neard  his  foot  upon  the  ground  and  had 
not  taken  the  trouble  to  turn  round  and 
look  at  him,  shut  his  book,  and  pursued  the 
train  of  ideas  his  entrance  had  liisturbed. 

"  If  time  were  mouHy,"  he  said,  hand- 
ling his  snut^-box,  "I  would  compound 
with  my  creditors,  and  give  them — let  me 
see — how  much  a  day  1  There  's  my  nap 
after  dinner — an  hour — they're  extremely 
welcome  to  that,  and  to  make  the  most  of 
it.  In  the  morning,  between  my  breakfast 
and  the  paper,  I  could  spare  them  another 
hour;  in  the  evening,  before  dinner,  say 
another.  Three  hours  a  day.  Tiiey  might 
pay  themselves  in  calls,  with  interest,  in 
twelve  months.  I  think  I  shall  propose  it 
to  them.   Ah,  my  centaur,  are  you  there !" 

"Here  I  am,"  replied  Hugh,  striding  in, 
followed  by  a  dog,  as  rough  and  sullen  as 
himself;  "and  trouble  enough  I've  had  to 
get  here.  What  do  you  ask  me  to  come 
for,  and  keep  me  out  when  I  do  come  V 

"  My  fifood  fellow,"  returned  the  other, 
raising  his  head  a  little  from  the  cusiiion 
and  carelessly  surveying  him  from  top  to 
toe,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  and  to 
have,  in  your  being  here,  the  very  best 
proof  that  you  are  not  kept  out.  How  are 
you  r' 

"I'm  well  enough,"  said  Hugh  impa- 
tiently. 

"You  look  a  perfect  marvel  of  health. 
Sit  down." 

"  I  'd  rather  stand,"  said  Hu^h. 

"  Please  yourself,  my  good  fellow,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Chester,  rising,  slowly  pulling 
ofFtlie  loose  robe  he  wore,  and  silting  down 
before  the  dressing-glass.  "Please  your- 
self, by  all  means." 

Having  said  this  in  the  politest  and 
blandest  tone  possible,  he  went  on  dress- 
ing, and  took  no  further  notice  of  his  guest, 
who  stood  in  the  same  spot,  as  uncertain 
what  to  do  next,  eyeing  him  sulkily  from 
time  to  time. 

"  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  mas- 
ter!"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence. 

"  My  worthy  creature,"  returned  Mr. 
Chester,  "  you  are  a  little  rutlled  and  out 
of  humour.  I  '11  wait  till  you  're  quite 
yourself  again.     I  am  in  no  hurry." 

This  behaviour  had  its  intended  effect. 
It  humbled  and  abashed  the  man,  and  made 
him  still  more  irresolute  and  uncertain. 
Hard  words  he  could  have  returned,  vio- 
lence he  would  have  repaid  with  interest; 
bc^  this  cool,  complacent,  contemptuous, 


self-possessed  reception,  caused  him  to  feel 
his  inferiority  more  completely  than  the 
most  elaborate  arguments.  Everything 
contributed  to  this  effect.  His  own  rough 
speech,  contrasted  with  the  soft  persuasive 
accents  of  the  other;  his  rude  bearing,  and 
Mr.  Chester's  polished  manner;  the  disor- 
der and  negligence  of  his  ragged  dress,  and 
the  elegant  attire  he  saw  before  him  ;  with 
all  the  unaccustomed  luxuries  and  comforts 
of  the  room,  and  the  silence  that  gave  him 
leisure  to  observe  these  things,  and  feel 
how  ill  at  ease  they  made  him  ;  all  these 
influences,  which  have  too  often  some  ef- 
fect on  tutored  minds,  and  become  almost 
resistless  power  when  brought  to  bear  on 
such  a  mind  as  his,  quelled  Hugh  com- 
pletely. He  moved  by  little  and  little, 
nearer  to  Mr.  Chester's  chair,  and  glanc- 
ing over  his  shoulder  at  the  reflection  of 
his  face  in  the  glass,  as  if  seeking  for  some 
encouragement  in  its  expression,  said  at 
length,  with  a  rough  attempt  at  concilia- 
tion, 

"  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  master, 
or  am  I  to  go  away  1" 

"Speak  you,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "speak 
you,  good  fellow.  I  have  spoken,  have  I 
not?     I  am  waiting  for  you." 

"  Why,  look'ee,  sir,"  returned  Hugh, 
with  increased  embarrassment,  "  am  I  the 
man  that  you  privately  left  your  whip  with 
before  you  rode  away  from  the  Maypole, 
and  told  to  bring  it  back  whenever  he 
might  want  to  see  you  on  a  certain  sub- 
ject?" 

"  No  doubt  the  same,  or  you  have  a  twin 
brother,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  glancing  at  the 
reflection  of  his  anxious  face;  "which  is 
not  probable,  I  should  say." 

"Then  I  have  come,  sir,"  said  Hugh, 
"  and  I  have  brought  it  back,  and  some- 
thing else  along  with  it.  A  letter,  sir,  it 
is,  tiiat  I  took  from  the  person  who  had 
charge  of  it."  As  he  spoke,  he  laid  upon 
the  dressing-table,  Dolly's  last  epistle: 
the  very  letter  that  had  cost  her  so  much 
trouble. 

"  Did  you  obtain  this  by  force,  my  good 
fellow?"  said  Mr.  Chester,  casting  his  eye 
upon  it  without  the  least  perceptible  sur- 
prise or  pleasure. 

"Not  quite,"  said  Hugh.     "Partly." 

"Who  was  the  messenger  from  whom 
you  took  it  ?" 

"  A  woman.     One  Varden's  daughter." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  .=aid  Mr.  Chester,  gaily. 
"  What  else  did  you  take  from  her  ?" 

"What  else?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  in  a  drawling 
manner,  for  he  was  fixing  a  very  small 
patch  of  sticking-plaster  on  a  very  small 
pimple  near  the  corner  of  his  moullt 
"  What  else^" 


BiARNABY  R  U  D  G  E. 


103 


"  Well  —  a  kiss,"  replied  Hugh,  after 
Bome  hesitation. 

"And  what  else]" 

"Nothinof." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  in  the  same 
easy  tone,  and  siniiinf^  twice  or  tiirice,  to 
try  if  the  patch  adhered — "I  tliink  there 
was  something'  else.  I  have  heard  a  trifle 
of  jewellery  spoken  of — a  mere  trifle — a 
thing  of  such  little  value,  indeed,  that  you 
may  have  forgotten  it  Do  you  remember 
anything  of  the  kind — such  as  a  bracelet, 
now,  for  instance  !" 

Hugh  with  a  muttered  oath  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  breast,  and,  drawing  the 
bracelet  forth,  wrapped  in  a  scrap  of  hay, 
was  about  to  lay  it  on  the  table,  likewise, 
when  his  patron  stopped  his  hand  and  bade 
him  put  it  up  again. 

"  You  took  that  for  yourself,  my  excel- 
lent friend,"  he  said,  "and  may  keep  it.  I 
am  neither  a  thief,  nor  a  receiver.  Don't 
show  it  to  me.  You  had  better  hide  it 
again,  and  lose  no  time.  Don't  let  me  see 
where  you  put  it,  either,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing away  his  head. 

"  You  're  not  a  receiver !"  said  Hugh, 
bluntly,  despite  the  increasing  awe  in 
which  he  held  him.  "  What  do  you  call 
that,  master  ]"  striking  the  letter  with  his 
oeavy  hand. 


"I  call  that  quite  another  thing,"  said 
Mr.  Chester,  coolly.  "1  shall  prove  it  pre- 
sently, as  you  will  see.  You  are  thirsty,  I 
suppose  ?" 

Hugh  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  lips, 
and  gruflly  answered  yes. 

"  Step  to  that  closet,  and  bring  me  a  bot- 
tle you  will  see  there,  and  a  glass." 

He  obeyed.  His  patron  fidlowed  him 
with  his  eyes,  and  when  his  back  was 
turned,  smiled  as  he  had  never  done  when 
he  stood  beside  the  mirror.  On  his  return 
he  filled  the  glass,  and  bade  him  drink. 
That  dram  despatched,  he  poured  him  out 
another,  and  another. 

"How  many  can  you  bear?"  he  said, 
filling  the  glass  again. 

"  As  many  as  you  like  to  give  me.  Pour 
on.  Fill  high.  A  bumper  with  a  bead  in 
the  middle!  Give  me  enough  of  this," 
he  added,  as  he  tossed  it  down  his  hairy 
throat,  "and  I'll  do  murder  if  you  ask 
me!" 

"As  I  don't  mean  to  ask  you,  and  you 
might  possibly  do  it  without  being  invited, 
if  you  went  on  much  further,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  with  great  composure,  "  we  will 
stop,  if  agreeable  to  you,  my  good  friend, 
at  the  next  glass. — You  were  drinking  be- 
fore you  came  here." 


"  T  always  am  when  I  can  get  it,"  cried 
Hugh,  boisterously,  waving  the  empty  glass 
aoove  his  head,  and  throwing  himself  into 
n  rude  dancing  attitude.     "I  always  am. 


Why  net  1  Ha,  ha,  ha !  What 's  so  e'ooo 
to  me  as  this?  What  ever  ha^  been  ' 
What  else  has  kept  away  the  cold  on  b't- 
ter  nights,  and  driven  hunger  off  in  starv- 


104 


BAR  NARY    RUDGE. 


ing  times?  What  else  has  frivon  me  the 
Btreniflh  and  coiirao-e  of  a  man,  when  men 
would  have  left  me  to  die,  a  puny  child  1 
I  should  never  have  had  a  man's  heart  but 
for  this.  I  should  have  died  in  a  ditch. 
Where's  he  wlm,  when  I  was  a  weak  and 
sickly  wretch,  with  trembling  lejrs  and 
fading  sight,  bade  me  cheer  up,  as  this  did] 
I  never  knew  him;  not  I.  I  drink  to  the 
drink,  master.     Ila,  ha,  ha!" 

"  You  are  an  exceedingly  cheerful  young 
man,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  putting  on  his  cra- 
vat with  greit  deliberation,  and  slightly 
moving  his  head  from  side  to  side,  to  settle 
his  chin  in  its  proper  place.  "  Quite  a  boon 
companion." 

"  Do  you  see  this  hand,  master,"  said 
Hugli,  "and  this  arm?"  baring  the  brawny 
limb  to  the  elbow.  "It  was  once  mere 
skin  and  bone,  and  would  have  been  dust 
in  some  poor  church-yard  by  this  time,  but 
for  the  drink." 

"  You  may  cover  it,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
"it's  sufficiently  real  in  your  sleeve." 

"  I  should  never  have  been  spirited  up  to 
take  a  kiss  from  the  proud  little  beauty, 
master,  but  for  the  drink,"  cried  Hugh. 
"Ha,  ha,  ha!  It  was  a  good  one.  As 
sweet  as  honey-suckle,  I  warrant  you.  I 
thank  the  drink  for  it.  I'll  drink  to  the 
drink  again,  master.  Fill  me  one  more. 
Come.     One  more !" 

"  You  are  such  a  promising  fellow,"  said 
his  patron,  putting  on  his  waistcoat  with 
^reat  nicety,  and  taking  no  heed  of  this 
request,  "  that  I  must  caution  you  against 
having  too  many  impulses  from  the  drink, 
and  getting  hung  before  your  time.  W  hat 's 
your  age]" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "you 
are  }nung  enough  to  escape  what  I  may 
call  a  natural  death  for  some  years  to  come. 
How  can  you  trust  yourself  in  my  hands 
on  so  short  an  acquaintance,  with  a  halter 
round  your  neck]  What  a  confiding  na- 
ture yours  must  be  !" 

Hugh  fell  })ack  a  pace  or  two  and  sur- 
veyed him  vvii^ii  a  look  of  mingled  terror, 
indignation,  and  -surprise.  Regarding  him- 
self in  the  glass  with  the  same  complacen- 
cy as  before,  and  speaking  as  smoothly  as 
if  he  were  discussing  some  pleasant  chit- 
chat of  the  town,  his  patron  went  on: 

"  Robbery  on  the  king's  highway,  my 
young  friend,  is  a  very  dangerous  and 
ticklish  occupation.  It  is  pleasant,  I  have 
no  doubt,  while  it  lasts;  but  like  many 
other  pleasures  in  this  transitory  world,  it  I 
seldom  lasts  long.  And  really  if,  in  the 
ingenuousness  of  youth,  you  open  y<iur 
heart  so  readily  on  the  subject,  I  am  afraid  | 
vouPi career  will   be   an   extremely  short, 

lir"." 


"  How's  this?"  said  Hugh.  "  What  do 
you  talk  of,  master!  Who  was  it  set  me 
on  ]" 

"  Who  ]"  said  Mr.  Chester,  wheeling 
sharply  rmmd,  and  looking  full  at  him  for 
the  first  time.  "I  didn't  hear  you.  Who 
was  it  ]" 

Hugh  faltered,  and  muttered  something 
which  was  not  audible. 

"  Who  was  it]  1  am  curious  to  know," 
said  Mr.  Chester,  with  surpassing  affiibili- 
ty.  "  iSome  rustic  beauty,  perhaps]  But 
be  cautious,  my  good  friend.  They  are 
not  always  to  be  trusted.  Do  take  my  ad- 
vice now,  and  be  careful  of  yourself" 
With  these  words  he  turned  to  the  glass 
again,  and  went  on  with  his  toilet. 

Hugh  would  have  answered  him  that  he, 
the  questioner  himself,  had  set  him  on,  but 
the  words  stuck  in  his  throat.  The  con- 
summate art  with  which  his  patron  had  led 
him  to  this  point,  and  managed  the  whole 
conversation,  perfectly  baffled  him.  He 
did  not  doubt  that  if  he  had  made  the  re- 
tort which  was  on  his  lips  when  Mr.  Ches- 
ter turned  round  and  questioned  him  so 
keenly,  he  would  straightway  have  given 
him  into  custody,  and  had  him  dragged  be- 
fore a  justice  with  the  stolen  property  upon 
him;  in  which  case,  it  was  as  certain  he 
would  have  been  hung  as  it  was  that  he 
had  been  born.  The  ascendency  which  it 
was  the  purpose  of  the  man  of  the  world 
to  establish  over  this  savage  instrument, 
was  gained  from  that  time.  Hugh's  .sub- 
mission was  complete.  He  dreaded  him 
beyond  description;  and  felt  that  accident 
and  artifice  had  spun  a  web  about  him, 
which  at  a  touch  from  such  a  master-hand 
as  his,  would  bind  hitn  to  the  gallows. 

With  these  thoughts  passing  through  his 
mind,  and  yet  wondering  at  the  very  same 
time  how  he,  who  came  there  rioting  in  the 
confidence  of  this  man  (as  he  thought), 
should  be  so  soon  and  so  thoroughly  sub- 
dued, Hugh  stood  cowering  before  him, 
regarding  him  uneasily  from  time  to  time, 
while  he  finished  dressing.  When  he  had 
done  so,  lie  took  up  the  letter,  broke  the 
seal,  and  thrcwing  himself  back  in  hia 
chair,  read  it  leisureiy  through. 

"Very  neatly  worded,  upon  my  life! 
Quite  a  woman's  letter,  full  of  what  peo- 
ple call  tenderness,  and  disinterestedness, 
and  heart,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  twisted  it  up,  and  glanc- 
ing lazily  round  at  Hugh,  as  though  he 
would  say  "  You  see  this]"  held  it  in  the 
flame  of  the  candle.  When  it  was  in  a 
full  blaze,  he  tossed  it  into  the  grate,  and 
there  it  smouldered  away. 

"  It  was  directed  to  my  son,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Hugh,  "and  you  did  quite  right 
to  bring  it  here.     I  opened  it  on  n^y  owu 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


105 


icsponsibility,  and  you  see  what  I  have 
done  with  it.    Take  this  for  your  trouble." 

Huofh  stepped  forward  to  receive  the 
piece  of  money  he  held  out  to  him.  As  he 
put  it  in  his  hand,  he  added  : 

"If  you  should  happen  to  find  any  thinor 
else  of  this  sort,  or  to  pick  up  any  kind  of 
information  you  may  think  I  would  like  to 
have,  bring  it  here  will  you,  my  good  fel- 
low ]" 

This  was  said  with  a  smile  which  im- 
plied—  or  Hugh  thought  it  did  —  "fail  to 
do  so  at  your  peril  I"  He  answered  that 
he  would. 

"And  don't,"  said  his  patron,  with  an 
air  of  the  very  kindest  patronage,  "  don't 
be  at  all  downcast  or  uneasy  respecting 
that  little  rashness  we  have  been  speaking 
of.  Your  neck  is  as  safe  in  my  hands,  my 
g'ood  fellow,  as  thougli  a  baby's  fingers 
clasped  it,  I  assure  you.  —  Take  another 
g^lass.     You  are  quieter  now." 

Hugh  accepted  it  from  his  hand,  and 
looking  stealthily  at  his  smiling  face,  drank 
the  contents  in  silence. 

"  Don't  you  —  ha,  ha  !  —  don't  you  drink 
to  the  drink  any  more!"  said  xMr.  Chester, 
in  his  most  winning  manner. 

"To  you,  sir,"  was  the  sullen  answer, 
with  something  approaching  to  a  bow.  "  I 
drink  to  you." 

"Thank  you.  God  bless  you,  By-the- 
bye,  what  is  your  name,  my  good  soul  1 
You  are  called  Hugh,  I  know,  of  course — 
your  other  name  ?" 

"  I  have  no  other  name  ?" 


"  A  very  strange  fellow  !  Do  you  mean 
that  you  never  knew  one,  or  that  you  don't 
choose  to  toll  it?  Which  !" 

"  I  'd  tell  it  if  I  could,"  said  Hugh,  quick- 
ly. "  1  can't.  1  have  been  always  called 
Hugh;  notliing  more.  I  never  knew,  nor 
saw,  nor  thought  about  a  father ;  and  I  was 
a  boy  of  six — that's  not  very  old — when 
they  hung  my  mother  up  at  Tyburn  for  a 
couple  of  thousand  men  to  stare  at.  They 
might  have  let  her  live.  She  was  poor 
enough." 

"  How  very  sad  !"  exclaimed  his  patron, 
with  a  condescending  smile.  "  I  have  no 
doubt  she  was  an  exceedingly  fine  woman." 

"  You  see  that  dog  of  minel"  said  Hugh 
abruptly. 

"  Faithful,  I  dare  say  V  rejoined  his 
patron,  looking  at  him  through  his  glass; 
"  and  immensely  clever !  Virtuous  and 
gifted  animals,  whether  man  or  beast,  al- 
ways are  so  very  hideous." 

"  Such  a  dog  as  that,  and  one  of  the 
same  breed,  was  the  only  living  thing  ex- 
cept me  that  howled  that  day,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Out  of  the  two  thousand  odd — there  was 
a  larger  crowd  for  its  being  a  woman — the 
dog  and  I  alone  had  any  pity.  If  he  'd  have 
been  a  man,  he  'd  have  been  glad  to  be  quit 
of  her,  for  she  had  been  forced  to  keep  him 
lean  and  half-starved ;  but  being  a  dog,  and 
not  having  a  man's  sense,  he  was  sorry." 

"  It  was  dull  of  the  brute,  certainly," 
said  Mr,  Chester,  "and  very  like  a  brute." 

Hugh  made  no  rejoinder;  but,  whistling 
to  his  dog,  who  sprung  up  at  the  sound  and 


106 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


came  jumpini^  and  sporting  about  him,  bade  i 
his  sympathising  friend  good  night.  j 

"  Good  night,"  he  returned.  "  Remem- 
ber ;  you  're  safe  with  me — quite  safe.  So  | 
long  as  you  deserve  it,  my  good  fellow,  as 
1  hope  you  always  will,  you  have  a  friend 
in  me,  on  whose  silence  you  may  rely,  j 
Now  do  be  careful  of  yourself,  pray  do,  and  ! 
consider  what  jeopardy  you  might  have  I 
stood  in.     Good  night !  bless  you  !"  [ 

Hugh  truckled  before  the  hidden  mean- 
ingot"  these  words  as  much  as  such  a  being 
could,  and  crept  out  of  the  door  so  sub- 
missively and  subserviently — with  an  air, 
in  short,  so  different  from  that  with  which 
he  had  entered — that  his  patron,  on  being 
left  alone,  smiled  more  than  ever. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  as  he  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff,  "  I  do  not  like  their  having  hanged 
his  mother.  The  fellow  has  a  tine  eye,  and 
I  dm  sure  she  was  handsome.     But  very 


probably  she  was  coarse  —  red-nosed  per- 
haps, and  had  clumsy  feet.  Ay.  It  was  all 
for  the  best,  no  doubt." 

With  this  comforting  reflection,  le  put 
on  his  coat,  took  a  farewell  glance  at  the 
glass,  and  summoned  his  man,  who  promptly 
attended,  followed  by  a  chair  and  its  two 
bearers. 

"  Fob  !"  said  Mr.  Chester.  "  The  very 
atmosphere  that  centaur  has  breathed, 
seems  tainted  with  the  cart  and  ladder. 
Here,  Peak.  Bring  some  scent,  and  sprin- 
kle the  floor;  and  take  away  the  chair  he 
sat  upon,  and  air  it;  and  dash  a  little  of 
that  mixture  upon  me.     I  am  stifled  !" 

The  man  obeyed  ;  and  the  room  and  its 
master  being  both  purified,  nothing  remain- 
ed for  Mr.  Chester  but  to  demand  his  hat, 
to  fold  it  jauntily  under  his  arm,  to  take  his 
seat  in  the  chair  and  be  carried  off;  hum- 
ming a  fashionable  tune. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FOURTH. 


How  the  accomplished  gentleman  spent 
the  evening  in  the  midst  of  a  dazzling  and 
brilliant  circle;  how  he  enchanted  all  those 
with  whom  he  mingled,  by  the  grace  of  his 
deportment,  the  politeness  of  his  manner, 
the  vivacity  of  his  conversation,  and  the 
sweetness  of  his  voice;  how  it  was  ob- 
served in  every  corner,  that  Chester  was  a 
man  of  that  happy  disposition  that  nothing 
ruflled  him,  that  he  was  one  on  whom  the 
world's  cares  and  errors  sat  lightly  as  his 
dress,  and  in  whose  smiling  face  a  calm 
and  tranquil  mind  was  constantly  reflected  ; 
how  honest  men,  who  by  instinct  knew  him 
better,  bowed  down  before  him  neverthe- 
less, deferred  to  his  every  word,  and  court- 
ed his  favourable  notice;  how  people,  who 
really  had  good  in  them,  went  with  the 
stream,  and  fawned,  and  flattered,  and  ap- 
proved, and  despised  themselves  while  they 
did  so,  and  yet  had  not  the  courage  to  re- 
sist; how,  in  short,  he  was  one  v\  those 
who  are  received  and  cherished  in  fociety 
(as  the  phrase  is)  by  scores,  who  individu- 
ally would  shrink  from  and  be  repe'l.d  by 
the  object  of  their  lavish  regard;  are  thintrs 
of  course,  which  will  suggest  themselves. 
Matter  so  common-place  needs  but  a  pass- 
ing glance,  and  there  an  end. 

The  despisers  of  mankind — apart  from 
the  mere  fools  and  mimics  of  that  creed — 
are  of  two  sorts.  They  who  believe  their 
.Tierit  neglected  and  unappreciated,  make 
up  one  clatis  ;  they  who  receive  adulation 


and  flattery,  knowing  their  own  worthless- 
ness,  compose  the  other.  Be  sure  that  the 
coldest-hearted  misanthropes  are  ever  of 
this  last  order. 

Mr.  Chester  sat  np  in  bed  next  morning, 
sipping  his  coffee,  and  remeiiibering  with 
a  kind  of  contempt  nous  satistiiction  how 
he  had  shone  la^^t  night,  and  how  he  had 
been  caressed  and  courted,  when  his  ser- 
vant bronsrht  in  a  very  small  scrap  of  dirty 
paper,  tii^htly  seah'd  in  two  plnccs,  on  the 
inside  whereof  was  inscrilx^d  in  pretty  large 
text,  these  words  : — "  A  friend.  Desiring 
of  a  conference.  Immediate.  Private. 
Burn  it  when  you've  read  it." 

"  Where  in  the  name  of  the  Gunpowder 
Plot  did  you  pick  up  this  ?"  said  his  mas- 
ter. 

It  was  given  him  by  a  person  then  wait- 
ing at  the  door,  the  m;\n  replied. 

"With  a  cloak  and  dagger!"  said  Mr. 
Chester. 

With  nothing  more  threatening  about 
him,  it  appeared,  than  a  leather  apron  and 
a  dirty  liice.  "  Let  him  come  in."  In  he 
canie — Mr.  Tapoertit ;  with  his  hair  still 
on  end,  and  a  great  lock  in  his  hand,  which 
he  put  down  on  the  floor  in  the  middle  of 
the  chambor,  as  if  he  were  about  to  go 
through  some  performances  in  which  it  waa 
a  necrssary  agent. 

"Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a  low 
bow,  "I  thank  you  for  this  condescension, 
and  am  glad  to  see  you.   Pardon  the  ir.euia! 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


107 


office  in  which  I  am  engaged,  sir,  and  ex- 
tend your  sympathies  to  one,  who,  humble 
as  his  appearance  is,  has  in'ard  woritings 
for  above  his  station." 

Mr.  Chof^ter  held  the  bed-curtain  farther 
back,  and  looked  at  him  with  a  vague  im- 
pression that  he  was  some  maniac,  who  had 
not  only  broken  open  the  door  of  his  place 
of  confinement,  but  had  brought  away  the 
lock.  Mr.  Tapportit  bowed  again,  and  dis- 
played his  legs  to  the  best  advantage. 

"  You  have  heard,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapper- 
tit,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  "of  G. 
Varden,  Locksmith  and  Bell-hanger,  and 
repairs  neatly  executed  in  town  and  coun- 
try, Clerkenwell,  London]" 

"What  then?"  asked  Mr.  Chester. 

"  I  am  his  'prentice,  sir." 

•♦  What  then  ?" 

"  Ahem  !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "  Would 
you  permit  me  to  shut  the  door,  sir,  and 
will  you  further,  sir,  give  me  your  honour 
bright,  that  what  passes  between  us  is  in 
the  strictest  confidence]" 

Mr.  Chester  laid  himself  calmly  down 
in  bed  again,  and,  turning  a  perfectly  un- 
disturbed face  towards  the  strange  appari- 
tion, which  had  by  this  time  closed  the 
door,  begged  him  to  speak  out,  and  to  be 
as  rational  as  he  could,  without  putting 
himself  to  any  very  great  personal  incon- 
venience. 

"  In  the  first  place,  sir,"  said  Mr  Tapper- 
tit,  producing  a  small  pocket-handkerchief, 
and  shaking  it  out  of  the  folds,  "  as  I  have 
not  a  card  about  me  (for  the  envy  of  mas- 
ters debases  us  below  that  level)  allow  me 
to  oS'er  the  best  substitute  that  circumstan- 
ces will  admit  of  If  you  will  take  that  in 
your  own  hand,  sir,  and  cast  your  eye  on 
the  right-hand  corner,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit, 
offering  it  with  a  graceful  air,  "  you  will 
meet  with  my  credentials." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Chester, 
politely  accepting  it,  and  turning  to  some 
blood-red  characters  at  one  end.  "  'Four. 
Simon  Tappertit.     One.'     Is  that  the — " 

"  Without  the  numbers,  sir,  that  is  my 
name,"  replied  the  'prentice.  "They  are 
merely  intended  as  directions  to  the  wash- 
erwoman, and  have  no  connection  with 
myself  or  family.  Your  name,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  looking  very  hard  at  his 
nightcap,  "  is  Chester,  I  suppose  ]  You 
needn't  pull  it  off,  sir,  thank  you.  I  observe 
E.  C.  from  here.  We  will  take  the  rest 
for  granted." 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Tappertit,"  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, "  has  that  complicated  piece  of  iron- 
mongery which  you  have  done  me  the  fa- 
vour to  bring  with  you,  any  immediate 
connection  with  the  business  we  are  to  dis- 
cuss]" 


"  It  has  not,  sir,"  rejoined  the  'prentice. 
"  It's  going  to  be  fitted  on  a  ware'us  door 
in  Thames  Street." 

"  i'erhaps,  as  that  is  the  case,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  "  and  as  it  has  a  stronger  flavou. 
of  oil  than  I  usually  refresh  my  bedroom 
with,  you  will  oblige  me  so  far  as  to  put  it 
outside  the  door] 

"  By  all  means,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit, 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

"  You  '11  excuse  my  mentioning  it,  I 
hope]" 

"  Don't  apologize,  sir,  I  beg.  And  now, 
if  you  please,  to  business." 

During  the  whole  of  this  dialogue,  Mr. 
Chester  had  suffered  nothing  but  his  smile 
of  unvarying  serenity  and  politeness  to  ap- 
pear upon  his  face.  Sim  Tappertit,  who 
had  far  too  good  an  opinion  of  himself  to 
suspect  that  anybody  could  be  playing  up- 
on him,  thought  within  himself  that  this 
was  something  like  the  respect  to  which 
he  was  entitled,  and  drew  a  comparison 
from  this  courteous  demeanour  of  a  stran- 
ger, by  no  means  favourable  to  the  worthy 
locksmith. 

"  From  what  passes  in  our  house,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  "  I  am  aware,  sir,  that  your 
son  keeps  company  with  a  young  lady 
against  your  inclinations.  Sir,  your  son 
has  not  used  me  well." 

"  Mr.  Tappertit,"  said  the  other,  "  you 
grieve  me  beyond  description." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  'prentice. 
"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  He'.s  very 
proud,  sir,  is  your  son  ;  very  haughty." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  haughty,"  said  Mr. 
Chester.  "  Do  you  know  I  was  really 
afraid  of  that  before ;  and  you  confirm  me  ]" 

"  To  recount  the  menial  offices  I  've  had 
to  do  for  your  son,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit : 
"the  chairs  I've  had  to  hand  to  him,  the 
coaches  I  've  had  to  call  for  him,  the  nu- 
merous degrading  duties,  wholly  uncon- 
nected with  my  indenters,  that  I  've  had  tc 
do  for  him,  would  fill  a  family  Bible.  Be- 
sides which,  sir,  he  is  but  a  young  man 
himself,  and  I  do  not  consider  'thank'ee 
Sim,'  a  proper  form  of  address  on  those  oc- 
casions." 

"  Mr.  Tappertit,  your  wisdom  is  beyond 
your  years.     Pray  go  on." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,  sir," 
said  Sim,  much  gratified,  "and  will  endea- 
vour so  to  do.  Now  sir,  on  this  account 
(and  perhaps  for  another  reason  or  two 
which  1  needn't  go  into)  I  am  on  your  side. 
And  what  I  telfyou  is  this — that  as  long 
as  our  people  go  backwards  and  forwards, 
to  and  fro,  up  and  down,  to  that  there  jolly 
old  Maypole,  lettering,  and  messagmg,  and 
fetching  and  carrying,  you  couldn't  help 
vour  son  keeping  company  with  that  young 


108 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


lady  by  deputy, — not  if  he  was  minded  n\ghi 
and  day  by  all  the  Horse  Guards,  and  every 
man  of 'em  in  the  very  fullest  uniform." 

Mr.  Tappertit  stopped  to  take  breath  af- 
ter this,  and  then  started  fresh  again. 

"Now,  sir,  I  am  a  comin"'  to  the  point. 
You  will  inquire  of  me,  '  how  is  this  to  be 
prevented?'  I '11  tell  you  how.  If  an  hon- 
est, civil,  smiling  gentleman  like  you — " 

"  Mr.  Tappertit — really — " 

"  No,  no,  I  'm  serious,"  rejoined  the 'pren- 
tice, "  I  am,  upon  my  soul.  If  an  honest, 
civil,  smiling  gentleman  like  you,  was  to 
talk  but  ten  minutes  to  our  old  woman — 
that's  Mrs.  Varden — and  flatter  her  up  a 
bit,  you  'd  gain  her  over  for  ever.  Tlien 
there's  this  point  got — that  her  daughter 
Dolly ,"-here  a  flush  came  over  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit's  face — "wouldn't  be  allowed  to  be 
a  go-between  from  that  time  forward ;  and 
till  that  point 's  got,  there  's  nothing  ever 
will  prevent  her.     Mind  that." 

"  Mr.  Tappertit,  your  knowledge  of  hu- 
man nature — " 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Sim,  folding  his 
arms  with  a  dreadful  calmness.  "Now  I 
come  to  THE  point.  Sir,  there  is  a  villain 
at  that  Maypole,  a  monster  in  human  sliape, 
a  vagabond  of  the  deepest  dye,  that  unless 
you  get  rid  of,  and  have  kidnapped  and  car- 
ried off"  at  the  very  least — nothing  less  will 
do — will  marry  your  son  to  that  young  wo- 
man, as  certainly  and  surely  as  if  he  was 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  himself.  He 
will,  sir,  for  the  hatred  and  malice  that  he 
bears  to  you;  let  alone  the  pleasure  of  do- 
ing a  bad  action,  which  to  him  is  its  own 
reward.  If  you  knew  how  this  chap,  this 
Joseph  Willet— that's  his  name— comes 
backwards  and  forwards  to  our  house,  libel- 
ling, and  denouncing,  and  tlireatening  you, 
and  how  I  shudder  when  I  hear  him,  you  'd 


hate  him  worse  than  I  do, — worse  than  1 
do,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  wildly,  putting 
his  hair  up  straighter,  and  making  a  crunch- 
ing noise  with  his  teeth  ;  "  if  sich  a  thing 
is  possible." 

"A  little  private  vengeance  in  this,  Mr. 
Tappertit!" 

"Private  vengeance,  sir,  or  public  sen- 
timent, or  both  combined — destroy  him," 
said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "Miggs  says  so  too. 
Miggs  and  me  both  say  so.  We  can't  bear 
the  plotting  and  undermining  that  takes 
place.  Our  souls  recoil  from  it.  Barnaby 
Rudge  and  Mrs.  Rudge  are  in  it  likewise ; 
but  the  villain,  Joseph  Willet,  is  the  ring- 
leader. Their  plottings  and  schemes  arf' 
known  to  me  and  Miggs.  If  you  want  in- 
formation of 'em,  apply  to  us.  Put  Joseph 
Willet  down,  sir.  Destroy  him.  Cr-ish 
him.     And  be  happy." 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Tappertit,  who 
seemed  to  expect  no  reply,  and  to  h'  id  it 
as  a  necessary  consequence  of  his  eloquence 
that  his  hearer  should  be  utterly  stunned, 
dumtbunded,  and  overwiielmcd,  fulded  his 
arms  so  that  the  palm  of  each  hand  rested 
on  the  opposite  shoulder,  and  disappeared 
after  the  manner  of  those  mysterious  War- 
ners of  whom  he  had  read  in  cheap  story- 
books. 

"  That  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  relax- 
ing his  face  when  he  was  fairly  gone,  "  is 
good  practice.  I  have  some  command  ot 
my  features,  beyond  all  doubt.  He  fully 
confirms  what  I  suspected,  though  ;  and 
blunt  tools  are  sometimes  found  of  use, 
where  sharper  instruments  would  fail.  I 
fear  I  may  be  obliged  to  make  great  havoc 
among  these  worthy  people.  A  trouble- 
some necessity  !     I  quite  feel  for  them." 

With  that  lie  fell  into  a  quiet  slumber: 
— subsided  into  such  a  gentle,  pleasant 
sleep,  that  it  was  quite  infantine. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


106 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH. 


Leaving  the  favoured,  and  well-received, 
and  flattered  of  the  world  ;  him  of  the  world 
,  most  worldly,  who  never  compromised  him- 
self by  an  ungentlemanly  action  and  was 
never  oruilty  of  a  manly  one;  to  lie  smil- 
msfly  asleep — for  even  sleep,  working  but 
little  chantre  in  his  dissemblinjr  face,  be- 
came with  him  a  piece  of  cold,  conventional 
hypocrisy — we  follow  in  the  steps  of  two 
slow  travellers  on  foot,  making  towards 
("hiirwell. 

Barnaby  and  his  mother.  Grip  in  their 
company,  of  course. 

The  widow,  to  whom  each  painful  mile 
seemed  longer  than  the  last,  toiled  wearily 
along-;  while  Barnaby,  yielding  to  every 
inconstant  impulse,  fluttered  here  and 
there,  now  leaving  her  far  behind,  now  lin- 
gering far  behind  himself,  now  darting 
into  some  by-lane  or  path,  and  leaving  her 
to  pursue  her  way  alone,  until  he  stealthily 
emerged  again  and  came  upon  her  with  a 
wild  shout  of  merriment,  as  his  wayward 
and  capricious  nature  prompted.  Now  he 
would  call  to  her  from  the  topmost  branch 
of  some  high  tree  by  the  roadside;  now, 
using  his  tall  staff  as  a  leaping-pole,  come 
flying  over  ditch,  or  hedge,  or  hve-barred 
gate;  now  run  with  surprising  swiftness  fur 
a  mile  or  more  on  the  straight  road,  and 
halting,  sport  upon  a  patch  of  grass  with 
Grip  till  she  came  up.  These  were  his 
delights;  and  when  his  patient  mother 
heard  his  merry  voice,  or  looked  into  his 
flushed  and  healthy  face,  she  would  not 
have  abated  them  by  one  sad  word  or  mur- 
mur, though  each  had  been  to  her  a  source 
of  suffering  in  the  same  degree  as  it  was  to 
him  of  pleasure. 

It  is  sometiiing  to  look  upon  enjoyment, 
60  that  it  be  free  and  wild  and  in  the  face 
of  nature,  though  it  is  but  the  enjoyment  of 
an  idiot.  It  is  something  to  know  that 
Heaven  has  left  the  capacity  of  gladness  in 
such  a  creature's  breast;  it  is  something  to 
be  assured  that,  however  lightly  men  may 
crush  that  faculty  in  their  fellows,  the 
Great  Creator  of  mankind  imparts  it  even 
to  his  despised  and  slighted  work.  Who 
would  not  rather  see  a  poor  idiot  happy  in 
the  sunlight,  than  a  wise  man  pining  in  a 
darkened  jail ! 

Ye  men  of  gloom  and  austerity,  who  paint 
the  face  of  Infinite  Benevolence  with  an 
eternal  frown ;  read  in  the  Everlasting 
Book,  wide  open  to  your  view,  the  lesson 
tt  would  teach.  Its  pictures  are  not  in 
glacK  and  sombre  hues,  but  bright  and 
glowing  tints;  its  music  —  save  when  ye 


drown  it  —  is  not  in  sighs  and  groans,  but 
songs  and  cheerful  sounds.  Listen  to  the 
million  voices  in  the  summer  air,  and  find 
one  dismal  as  your  own.  Remember,  if  ye 
can,  the  sense  of  hope  and  pleasure  which 
every  glad  return  of  day  awakens  in  the 
breast  ofall  your  kind  who  have  not  changed 
their  nature  ;  and  learn  some  wisdom  even 
from  the  witless,  when  their  hearts  are 
lifted  up  they  know  not  why,  by  all  the 
mirth  and  happiness  it  brings. 

The  widow's  breast  was  full  of  care,  was 
laden  heavily  with  secret  dread  and  sor- 
row ;  but  her  boy's  gaiety  of  heart  glad- 
dened her,  and  beguiled  the  long  journey. 
Sometimes  he  would  bid  her  lean  upon  hia 
arm,  and  would  keep  beside  her  steadily  fbr 
a  short  distance;  but  it  was  more  his  na- 
ture to  be  rambling  to  and  fro,  and  she  bet- 
ter liked  to  see  him  free  and  happy,  even 
than  to  have  him  near  her,  because  she 
loved  him  better  than  herself. 

She  had  quitted  the  place  to  which  they 
were  travelling,  directly  after  the  event 
which  had  changed  her  whole  existence  ; 
and  for  two-and-twenty  years  had  never 
had  courage  to  revisit  it.  It  was  her  na- 
tive village.  How  many  recollections 
crowded  on  her  mind  when  it  appeared  in 
sight ! 

Two-and-twenty  years.  Her  boy's  whole 
life  and  history.  The  last  time  she  looked 
back  upon  those  roofs  among  the  trees,  she 
carried  him  in  her  arms,  an  infant.  How 
often  since  that  time  had  she  sat  beside  him 
night  and  day,  watching  fbr  the  dawn  or 
mind  that  never  came  ;  how  had  she  tt'ared, 
and  doubted,  and  yet  hoped,  long  after  con- 
viction forced  itself  upon  her!  The  little 
stratagems  she  had  devised  to  try  him,  the 
little  tokens  he  had  given  in  his  childish 
way — not  of  dullness,  but  of  something  in- 
finitely worse,  so  ghastly  and  unchild-like 
in  its  cunning — came  back  as  vividly  as  if 
but  yesterday  had  intervened.  The  room 
in  which  they  used  to  be ;  the  spot  in  which 
his  cradle  stood  ;  lie,  old  and  elfin-like  in 
face,  but  ever  dear  to  her,  gazing  at  her 
with  a  wild  and  vacant  eye,  and  crooning 
some  uncouth  song  as  she  sat  by  and  rocked 
him;  every  circumstance  of  his  infancy 
came  thronging  back,  and  the  most  trivial, 
perhaps,  the  most  distinctly. 

His  older  childhood,  too  ;  the  strange  im- 
aginings he  had  ;  his  terror  of  certain  sense- 
less things —  familiar  objects  he  endowed 
with  life;  the  slow  and  gradual  breaking 
out  of  that  one  horror,  in  which,  before  hia 
birth,  his  darkened  intellect  began  ;  how, 


no 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


in  tlio  midst  of  all,  she  had  found  some 
hope  and  comfort  in  his  beinj,'  unlike 
another  child,  and  had  gone  on  almost  be- 
litiving  in  the  slow  development  of  his 
mind  until  he  grew  a  man,  and  then  his 
childliood  was  complete  and  lasstiiig ;  one 
after  another,  all  these  old  tiioiiohts  sprung 
up  within  her,  strong  after  their  long  slum- 
ber, and  bitterer  than  ever. 

She  took  his  arm,  and  they  hurried 
through  the  village  street.  It  was  the 
same  as  it  was  wont  to  be  in  old  times,  yet 
different  too,  and  wore  another  air.  The 
change  was  in  herself,  not  it;  but  she  never 
thought  of  that,  and  wondered  at  its  altera- 
tion, and  where  it  lay,  and  what  it  was. 

The  people  ail  knew  Barnaby,  and  the 
children  of  the  place  catne  flocking  round 
him — as  she  remembered  to  have  done  with 
their  fathers  and  mothers,  round  some  silly 
beggarman,  when  a  child  herself.  None  of 
them  knew  her ;  they  passed  each  well-re- 
membered house,  and  yard,  and  homestead  ; 
and  striking  into  the  fields,  were  soon  alone 
again. 

The  Warren  was  the  end  of  their  jour- 
ney. Mr.  Haredale  was  walking  in  the 
garden,  and  seeing  them  as  they  passed  the 
iron  gate,  unlocked  it,  and  bade  them  enter 
that  way. 

"  At  length  you  have  mustered  heart  to 
visit  the  old  place,"  he  said  to  the  widow, 
"  I  am  glad  you  have." 

"  For  the  first  time,  and  the  last,  sir," 
she  replied. 

"  The  first  for  many  years,  but  not  the 
last?" 

"  The  very  last." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  re- 
garding her  with  some  surprise,  "  that  hav- 
ing made  this  effort,  you  are  resolved  not 
to  persevere,  and  are  determined  to  relapse ! 
This  is  unworthy  of  you.  I  have  often  told 
you,  you  should  return  here.  You  would 
be  happier  here  than  elsewhere,  I  know. 
As  to  Barnaby,  it's  quite  his  home." 

"  And  Grip's,"  said  Barnaby,  holding  the 
basket  open.  The  raven  hopped  gravely 
out,  and  perching  on  his  shoulder  and  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Mr.  Haredale,  cried — 
as  a  hint,  perhaps,  that  some  temperate  re- 
freshment would  be  acceptable — "  Polly  put 
the  kettle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea!" 

"  Hear  me,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Haredale 
kindly,  as  he  motioned  her  to  walk  with 
Iiim  towards  the  house.  "Your  life  has 
been  an  example  of  patience  and  fortitude, 
except  in  this  one  particular,  which  has 
often  given  me  great  pain.  It  is  enough 
to  know  that  you  were  cruelly  involved  in 
.he  calamity  which  deprived  me  of  an  only 
brother,  and  Emma  of  hor  fiither,  without 
being  obliged  to  suppose  (as  I  sometimes  i 


am)  that  you  associate  us  with  the  author 
of  our  joint  misfortunes." 

"  Associate  you  with  him,  sir !"  she 
cried. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  I  think 
you  do.  I  almost  believe  that  because  your 
husband  was  bound  by  so  many  ties  to  our 
relation,  and  died  in  his  service  and  de- 
fence, you  have  come  in  some  sort  to  con- 
nect us  with  his  murder." 

"  Alas  !"  she  answered.  "  You  little 
know  my  heart,  sir.  You  little  know  the 
truth  !" 

"It  is  natural  you  should  do  so;  it  is 
very  probable  you  may,  without  being  con- 
scious of  it,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  speaking 
more  to  himself  than  her.  "  We  are  a 
fallen  house.  Money,  dispensed  with  the 
most  lavish  hand,  would  be  a  poor  recom- 
pense for  sufferings  like  yours;  and  thinly 
scattered  by  hands  so  pinched  and  tied  as 
ours,  it  becomes  a  miserable  mockery.  I 
feel  it  so,  God  knows,"  he  added,  hastily. 
"Why  should  I  wonder  if  she  does!" 

"You  do  me  wrong,  dear  sir,  indeed," 
she  rejoined  with  great  earnestness  ;  "  and 
yet  when  you  come  to  hear  what  I  desire 
your  leave  to  say " 

"  I  shall  find  my  doubts  confirmed  ]"  he 
said,  observing  that  she  faltered  and  became 
confused.     "  Well !" 

lie  quickened  his  pace  for  a  few  steps, 
but  fell  back  again  to  her  side,  and  said: 

"  And  have  you  come  all  this  way  at  last, 
solely  to  speak  to  me  1" 

She  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  A  curse,"  he  muttered,  "  upon  the 
wretched  state  of  us  proud  beggars,  from 
whom  the  poor  and  rich  are  equally  at  a 
distance;  the  one  being  forced  to  treat  us 
with  a  show  of  cold  respect;  the  other  con- 
descending to  us  in  their  every  deed  and 
word,  and  keeping  more  aloof,  the  nearer 
they  approacii  us. — Why,  if  it  were  pain  to 
you  (as  it  must  have  been)  to  break  for  this 
slight  purpose,  the  chain  of  habit  forged 
through  two-and-twenty  years,  could  you 
not  let  me  know  your  wish,  and  beg  me 
come  to  you  !" 

"  There  was  not  time,  sir,"  she  rejoined, 
"I  took  my  resolution  but  last  night,  and 
taking  it,  felt  thai  I  must  not  lose  a  day — 
a  day!  an  hour  —  in  having  speech  witn 
you." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  house. 
Mr.  Haredale  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  at  her  as  if  surprised  by  the  energy 
of  her  manner.  Observing,  however,  that 
she  took  no  heed  of  him,  but  glanced  up, 
shuddering,  at  the  old  walls  with  which 
such  horrors  were  connected  in  her  mind, 
he  led  lipr  by  a  private  stair  into  his  library, 
where  Emma  was  sealed  in  a  window 
reading. 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


Ill 


The  young  ^ady,  seeing  who  approached, 
hastily  rose  and  laid  aside  her  book,  and 
with  many  kind  words,  and  not  without 
tears,  gave  her  a  warm  and  earnest  wel- 
come. But  the  widow  shrunk  from  her 
embrace,  as  though  she  feared  her,  and 
sunk  down  trenibiuig  on  a  chair. 

"  It  is  the  return  to  this  place  after  so 
long  an  absence,"  said  Euinia,  gently. 
"  Pray  ring,  dear  uncle — or  stay — Barnaby 
will  run  lumself  and  ask  for  wine " 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  cried.  "  It 
would  have  another  taste  —  I  could  not 
touch  it.  I  want  but  a  minute's  rest. 
Nothing  but  that." 

Miss  Haredale  stood  beside  her  chair,  re- 
garding her  with  silfnt  pity.  She  remain- 
ed for  a  little  time  quite  still ;  then  rose 
and  turned  to  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  sat 
down  in  his  easy  chair,  and  was  contem- 
plating her  with  fixed  attention. 

The  tale  connected  with  the  mansion 
borne  in  mind,  it  seemed,  as  has  been  al- 
ready said,  the  chosen  theatre  for  such  a 
deed  as  it  had  known.   Tiie  room  in  which 


this  group  were  now  assembled  —  hard  by 
tiie  very  chamber  where  the  act  was  dona 
—  dull,  dark,  and  sombre;  heavy  with 
worm-eaten  books;  deadened  and  shut  in 
by  faded  hangings,  mniiling  every  sound; 
shadowed  mournfully  by  trees  wliose  rust- 
ling boughs  gave  ever  and  anon  a  spectral 
knocking  at  the  glass;  wore,  beyond  all 
others  in  the  house,  a  giiostly,  gloomy  air. 
Nor  were  the  group  assembled  tliere,  un- 
fitting tenants  of  the  spot.  The  widow, 
with  her  marked  and  startling  face  and 
downcast  eyes;  Mr.  Haredale,  stern  and 
despondent  ever ;  his  niece  beside  him,  like, 
yet  most  unlike,  the  picture  of  her  father, 
which  gazed  reproachfully  down  upon  them 
from  the  blackened  wall ;  Barnaby,  with 
his  vacant  look  and  restless  eye;  were  all 
in  keeping  with  tiie  place,  and  actors  in 
the  legend.  Nay,  llie  very  raven,  who  had 
hopped  upon  the  table,  and  with  the  air  of 
some  old  necromancer,  appeared  to  be  pro- 
foundly studying  a  great  tiilio  volume  that 
lay  open  on  a  desk,  was  strictly  in  unison 
with  the  rest,  and  looked  like  the  embodied 
spirit  of  evil  biding  his  time  of  mischief. 


•«  I  scarcely  know,"  said  the  widow, 
breaking  silence,  "  how  to  begin.  You 
will  ihink  my  mind  di.-ordered." 

"  The  whole  tenor  of  your  quiet  and  re- 
proachlf  ss  life  since  you  were  last  here," 
returned  Mr.  Haredale,  mildly,  "  shall  bear 
witness  for  yon.  Why  do  you  fear  to 
awaken  such  a  suspicion  1  You  do  not 
speak  to  strangers.    Vou  have  not  lo  claim 


our  interest  or  consideration  for  the  first 
time.  Be  more  yourself.  Take  heart. 
Any  advice  or  assistance  that  I  can  givu 
you,  you  know  is  yours  of  right,  and  freely 
yours." 

"  What  if  I  came,  sir,"  she  rejoined,  «'  1, 
who  have  but  one  other  friend  on  earth,  to 
reject  your  aid  from  this  moment,  and  to 
say  that  henceforth  1  launch  myself  upoa 


112 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


the  world,  alone  and  unassisted,  to  sink  or 
swim  as  Heaven  muy  decree  !" 

"  You  would  liave,  if  you  came  to  me 
for  such  a  purpose,"  said  Mr.  Haredale 
calmly,  "some  reason  to  assign  for  conduct 
so  extraordinary,  wliich  —  if  one  may  en- 
tertain the  possibility  of  any  thing  so  wild 
and  strange  —  would  have  its  weight,  of 
course." 

"  That  sir,"  she  answered,  "  is  the  misery 
of  my  distress.  I  can  give  no  reason  what- 
ever. My  own  bare  word  is  all  that  I  can 
offer.  It  is  my  duty,  my  imperative  and 
bounden  duty.  If  I  did  not  discharge  it,  I 
should  be  a  base  and  guilty  wretch.  Hav- 
ing said  thit,  my  lips  are  sealed,  and  I  can 
Bay  no  more." 

As  though  she  felt  relieved  at  having 
eaid  so  much,  and  had  nerved  herself  to 
the  remainder  of  her  task,  she  spoke  from 
this  time  with  a  firmer  voice  and  heighten- 
ed courage. 

"  Heaven  is  my  witness,  as  my  own  heart 
is — and  yours,  dear  young  lady,  will  speak 
for  me,  I  know  —  that  I  have  lived,  since 
that  time  we  all  have  bitter  reason  to  re- 
member, in  unchanging  devotion,  and  grat- 
itude to  this  family.  Heaven  is  my  wit- 
ness, that,  go  where  I  may,  I  shall  preserve 
those  feelings  unimpaired.  And  it  is  my 
witness,  too,  that  they  alone  impel  me  to 
the  course  I  must  take,  and  from  which 
nothing  now  shall  turn  me,  as  I  hope  for 
mercy." 

"These  are  strange  riddles,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale. 

"  In  this  world,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  they 
may,  perhaps,  never  be  explained.  In  an- 
other, the  truth  will  be  discovered  in  its 
own  good  time.  And  may  that  time,"  she 
added  in  a  low  voice,  "  be  far  disiant!" 

"  I,et  me  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
"  that  I  understand  you,  for  I  am  doubtful 
of  my  own  senses.  Do  you  mean  that  you 
are  resolved  voluntarily  to  deprive  yourself 
of  those  means  of  support  you  have  received 
from  us  so  long — that  you  are  determined 
to  resign  the  annuity  we  .settled  on  you 
twenty  years  ago  —  to  leave  house,  and 
home,  and  goods,  and  begin  life  anew — and 
this,  for  some  secret  reason  or  monstrous 
fancy  which  is  incapable  of  explanation, 
which  only  now  exists,  and  has  been  dor- 
mant all  this  time?  In  the  name  of  God, 
under  what  delusion  are  you  labouring]" 

"As  I  am  deeply  thankful,"  she  made 
answer,  "for  the  kindness  of  those,  alive  \ 
and  dead,  who  liave  owned  this  house;  and 
as  I  would  not  have  its  roof  fall  down  and 
crush  me,  or  its  very  walls  drip  blood,  my 
name  being  spoken  in  their  hearing ;  I 
never  will  again  subsist  upon  their  bounty, 
or  lei  it  help  me  'o  subsistence.     You  do  , 


not  know,"  she  added,  sullenly,  "to  wnat 
uses  it  may  be  applied  ;  into  what  hands  it 
may  pass.     I  do,  and  I  renounce  it." 

"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  its  uses 
rest  with  you." 

"They  did.  They  rest  with  me  no 
longer.  It  may  be — it  is — devoted  to  pur- 
poses that  mock  the  dead  in  their  graves. 
It  never  can  prosper  with  me.  It  will 
bring  some  other  heavy  judgment  on  the 
head  of  my  dear  son,  whose  innocence  will 
suffer  for  his  mother's  guilt." 

"What  words  are  these!"  cried  Mr. 
Haredale,  regarding  her  with  wonder. 
"  Among  what  as.sociates  have  you  fiiUen  ? 
Into  what  guilt  have  you  ever  been  be- 
trayed .'" 

"I  am  guilty,  and  yet  innocent;  wrong, 
yet  right;  good  in  intention,  though  con- 
strained to  shield  and  aid  the  bad.  Ask  me 
no  more  questions,  sir;  but  believe  that  I 
am  rather  to  be  pitied  than  condemned.  I 
nnist  leave  my  house  to-morrow,  for  while 
[  stay  there,  it  is  haunted.  My  future 
dwelling,  if  I  am  to  live  in  peace,  must  be 
a  secret.  If  my  poor  boy  should  ever  stray 
this  way,  do  not  tempt  him  to  disclose  it,  or 
have  him  watched  when  he  returns;  for  if 
we  are  hunted,  we  must  fly  again.  And 
now  this  load  is  off  my  mind,  I  beseech  you 
—  and  you,  dear  Miss  Haredale,  too — to 
trust  me  if  you  can,  and  think  of  me  kindly 
as  you  have  been  used  to  do.  If  I  die  and 
cannot  tell  my  secret  even  then  (for  that 
may  come  to  pass,)  it  will  sit  the  lighter  on 
my  breast  in  that  hour  for  this  day's  work  : 
and  on  that  day,  and  every  day  until  it 
comes,  I  will  pray  for  and  thank  you  both, 
and  trouble  you  no  more." 

With  that,  she  would  have  left  them,  but 
they  detained  her,  and  with  many  sootliinif 
words  and  kind  entreaties  besought  her  to 
consider  what  she  did,  and  above  all  to  re- 
pose more  freely  upon  them,  and  say  what 
weighed  so  sorely  on  her  mind.  Finding 
her  deaf  to  their  persuasions,  Mr.  Haredale 
suggested,  as  a  last  resource,  that  she 
should  confide  in  Emma,  of  whom,  as  a 
young  person  and  one  of  her  own  sex,  she 
might  stand  in  less  dread  than  of  himself. 
From  this  proposal,  however,  she  recoiled 
with  the  same  indescribable  repuo-nance  she 
had  manifested  when  they  met.  The  utmost 
that  could  be  wrung  from  her  was,  a  pro- 
mise that  she  would  receive  Mr.  Haredale 
at  her  own  house  next  evening,  and  in'tlie 
mr-an  time  re-consider  her  determination 
and  their  dissuasions — though  any  change 
on  her  part,  as  she  told  them,  was  quite 
hopeless.  'J'his  condition  made  at  last,  they 
reluctantly  suffered  her  t(>  depart,  since  she 
would  neither  eat  nor  drink  within  the 
house;   and  she,  and  Barnaby,  and  Grip, 


BA.RNABY    RUDGE. 


113 


iccordinorly  went  out  as  they  had  come,  by 
the  private  stiiir  and  ^'anlcn  afate;  seeing 
and  being  seen  of  no  one  by  the  way. 

It  was  remarkable  in  the  raven,  that 
during  the  whole  interview  he  had  kept 
his  eye  on  his  book  with  exactly  the  air  of 
a  very  sly  human  rascal,  who,  under  the 
mask  of  pretending  to  read  hard,  was  lis- 
tening to  everything.  He  still  appeared 
to  have  the  conversation  very  strongly  in 
his  mind,  for  although,  when  they  were 
alone  again,  he  issued  orders  for  the  instant 
preparation  of  innumerable  kettles  for  pur- 
poses of  tea,  he  was  tlioughtful,  and  rather 
seemed  to  do  so  from  an  abstract  sense  of 
duty,  than  with  any  regard  to  making  him- 
self agreeable,  or  being  what  is  commonly 
called  good  company. 

They  were  to  return  by  the  coach.  As 
there  was  an  interval  of  full  two  hours  be- 
fore it  started,  and  they  needed  rest  and 
some  refreshment,  Barnaby  begged  hard 
for  a  visit  to  the  Maypole.  But  his  mo- 
ther, who  had  no  wish  to  be  recognized  by 
any  of  those  who  had  known  her  long  ajjo, 
and  who  feared  besides  that  Mr.  Haredale 
might,  on  second  thoughts,  despatch  some 
messenger  to  that  place  of  entertainment 
in  quest  of  her,  proposed  to  wait  in  the 
churchyard  instead.  As  it  was  easy  for 
Barnaby  to  buy  and  carry  thither  such 
humble  viands  as  they  required,  he  cheer- 
fully assented,  and  in  the  churchyard  they 
6at  down  to  take  their  frugal  dinner. 

Here  again,  the  raven  was  in  a  highly 
reflective   stale ;    walking   up   and   down 


when  he  had  dined,  with  an  air  of  elderly 
complacency  which  was  strongly  sugges- 
tive of  his  having  his  hands  under  his  coat- 
tails;  and  appearing  to  read  the  tombstones 
with  a  very  critical  taste.  Sometimes,  after 
a  long  inspection  of  an  epitaph,  he  would 
strop  his  beak  upon  the  grave  to  which  it 
referred,  and  cry  in  his  hoarse  tones,  "  1  'ni 
a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I 'm  a  devil!"  but 
whether  he  addressed  his  observations  tc 
any    supposed    person    below,   or   merely 

j  threw  them  off   as  a  general  remark,  is 

I  matter  of  uncertainty. 

[  It  was  a  (juiet  pretty  spot,  but  a  sad  one 
for  Barnaby's  mother;  for  Mr.  Reuben 
Haredale  lay  there,  and  near  the  vault  in 
which  his  ashes  rested,  was  a  stone  to  the 
memory  of  her  own  husband,  with  a  brief 
inscription  recording  how  and  when  he  had 
lost  his  life.  She  sat  here,  thoughtful  and 
apart,  until  their  time  was  out,  and  the  ilis- 
tant  horn  told  that  the  coach  was  coming. 
Barnaby,  who  had  been  sleeping  on  the 
grass,  sprung  up  quickly  at  the  sound ;  and 
Grip,  who  appeared  to  understand  it  equal- 
ly well,  walked  into  his  basket  straight- 
way, entreating  society  in  general  (aa 
though  he  intended  a  kind  of  satire  upon 
them  in  connexion  with  churchyards)  ne- 
ver to  say  die,  on  any  terms.     They  were 

j  soon  on  the  coach-top  and  rolling  along  the 

I  road. 

It  went  round  by  the  Maypole,  and  stop- 
ped at  the  door.  Joe  was  from  home,  and 
Hugh  came  sluggishly  out  to  hand  up  the 
parcel  that  it  called  for.    There  was  no  fear 


114 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


of  old  John  cominor  out.  They  could  sen  liirn 
from  the  cor-.ch-roof,  fast  asleep  in  his  cosey 
bar.  It  \v;is  a  part  of  John's  character. 
He  made  a  point  of  goingf  to  sleep  at  tiie 
coach's  time.  He  despi.sed  gadding  about; 
he  looked  upon  coaches  as  things  that  ought 
to  be  indicted;  as  disturbers  of  the  peace 
of  mankind;  as  restless,  bustling,  busy, 
liorn-hlowing  contrivances,  quite  beneath 
the  dignity  of  men,  and  only  suited  to  gid- 
dy girls  that  did  nothing  but  chatter  and 
go  a-shopping.  "  We  know  nothing  about 
coaches  here,  sir,"  Jolui  would  say,  if  any 
onlucky  stranger  made  inquiry  touching 
the  offensive  vehicles;  "we  don't  book  for 
'em;  we'd  rather  not;  they're  more  trou- 
ble than  they  're  worth,  with  their  noise 


and  rattle.  If  you  like  to  wait  for  'em,  yoi' 
can;  but  we  don't  know  aiiythinir  about 
'em;  they  may  call,  and  th<>y  may  not — 
there's  a  carrier — he  was  looked  upon  as 
quite  good  enough  for  us,  when  /  was  a 
boy." 

She  dropped  her  veil  as  Hugh  climbed 
up,  and  while  he  hung  behind,  and  talked 
to  Barnaby  in  whispers.  But  neither  he 
nor  any  other  person  spoke  to  her,  or  no- 
ticed her,  or  had  any  curiosity  about  her; 
and  so,  an  alien,  she  visited  and  left  the 
village  where  she  had  been  born,  and  had 
lived  a  merry  child,  a  comely  girl,  a  happy 
wife — where  she  had  known  all  her  enjoy- 
ment of  life,  and  had  entered  on  its  hard- 
est sorrows. 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SIXTH. 


"And  you're  not  surprised  to  hear  this, 
Varden !"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "Well! 
You  and  she  have  always  been  the  best 
friends,  and  you  should  understand  her  if 
anybody  does." 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  rejoined  the 
locksmith.  "  I  didn't  say  1  understood  her. 
I  wouldn't  have  the  presumption  to  say  that 
of  any  woman.  It's  not  so  easily  done. 
But  I  am  not  so  much  surprised,  sir,  as  you 
expected  me  to  be,  certainly." 

"  May  I  ask  why  not,  my  good  friend  ?" 

"  I  have  seen,  sir,"  returned  the  lock- 
smith with  evident  reluctance,  "  I  have 
eeen  in  connexion  with  her,  something  that 
has  filled  me  with  distrust  and  uneasiness. 
She  has  made  bad  friends;  how,  or  when, 
I  don't  know ;  but  that  her  house  is  a  re- 
fuge for  one  robber  and  cut-throat  at  least, 
I  am  certain.    There,  sir!    Now  it's  out." 

"  Varden  !" 

"  My  own  eyes,  sir,  are  my  witnesses, 
and  for  her  sake  I  would  be  willingly  half- 
blind,  if  I  could  but  have  the  pleasure  of 
mistrusting  'em.  I  have  kept  the  secret 
till  now,  and  it  will  go  no  further  than 
yourself;  I  know;  but  I  toll  you  that  with 
my  own  eyes — broad  awake — I  saw,  in  the 
passage  of  her  house  one  evening  after 
dark,  the  highwayman  who  robbed  and 
wounded  Mr.  Edward  Chester,  and  on  the 
same  night  threatened  me." 

"And  you  made  no  effort  to  detain 
him?"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  quickly. 

"Sir,"  returned  the  locksmith,  "she  her- 
self D'-evented  me — held  me,  with  all  her 


strength,  and  hung  about  me  until  he  had 
got  clear  off."  And  having  gone  so  far,  he 
related  circumstantially  all  that  had  passed 
upon  the  night  in  question. 

This  dialogue  was  held  in  a  low  tone  in 
the  locksmith's  little  parlour,  into  which 
honest  Gabriel  had  shown  his  visiter  on  his 
arrival.  Mr.  Haredale  had  called  upon 
him  to  entreat  his  company  to  the  widow's, 
that  he  might  have  the  assistance  of  his 
persuasion  and  influence ;  and  out  of  this 
circumstance  the  conversation  had  arisen. 

"  I  forbore,"  said  Gabriel,  "from  repeat- 
ing one  word  of  this  to  anybody,  as  it  could 
do  her  no  good,  and  might  do  her  great 
harm.  I  thought  and  hoped,  to  say  the 
truth,  that  she  would  come  to  me,  and  talk 
to  me  about  it,  and  tell  me  how  it  was ;  but 
though  I  have  purposely  put  myself  in  her 
way  more  than  once  or  twice,  she  has  ne- 
ver touched  upon  the  subject — e.xcept  by  a 
look.  And  indeed,"  said  the  good-natured 
locksmith,  "there  was  a  good  deal  in  the 
look,  more  than  could  have  been  p,.t  into  a 
great  many  words.  It  said,  amoiig  other 
matters,  'Don't  ask  me  anything,' so  im- 
ploringly, that  I  didn't  ask  her  anything. 
You'll  think  me  an  old  fool,  I  know,  sir. 
If  it's  any  relief  to  call  me  one,  pray 
do." 

"  I  am  greatly  disturbed  by  what  you 
tell  me,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  silence. 
"  What  meaning  do  you  attach  to  it !" 

The  locksmith  shook  his  head,  and  look- 
ed doubtfully  out  of  window  at  the  failing 
light. 


BAKNABY   RUDGE. 


115 


«« She  cannot  have  married  again,"  said 
Mr.  Ilaredale. 

"  Not  without  our  knowledge,  surely, 
sir." 

"  She  may  have  done  so,  in  the  fear  that 
it  would  lead,  if  known,  to  some  objection 
or  estrangement.  Suppose  she  married  in- 
cautiously—  it  is  not  improbable,  for  her 
existence  has  been  a  lonely  and  monoto- 
nous one  for  many  years  —  and  the  man 
turned  out  a  ruffian,  she  would  be  anxious 
to  screen  him,  and  yet  would  revolt  from 
his  crimes.  Tliis  might  be.  It  bears  strong- 
ly on  the  whole  drift  of  her  discourse  yes- 
terday, and  would  quite  explain  her  con- 
duct. Do  you  suppose  Barnaby  is  priv^  to 
these  circumstances]" 

'•  Quite  impossible  to  say,  sir,"  returned 
the  locksmith,  shaking  his  head  again: 
"  and  next  to  impossible  to  find  out  from 
him.  If  what  you  suppose  is  really  the 
case,  I  tremble  for  the  lad — a  notable  per- 
son, sir,  to  put  to  bad  uses — " 

"It  is  not  possible,  Varden,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  in  a  still  lower  tone  of  voice 
than  he  had  spoken  yet,  "  that  we  have 
been  blinded  and  deceived  by  this  woman 
from  the  beginning  J  It  is  not  possible 
that  this  connexion  was  formed  in  her  hus- 
band's lifetime,  and  led  to  his  and  my  bro- 
ther's—" 

"  Good  God  !  sir,"  cried  Gabriel,  inter- 
rupting him,  "don't  entertain  such  dark 
thoughts  for  a  moment.  Five-and-twenty 
years  ago,  where  was  there  a  girl  like  her! 
A  gay,  handsome,  laughing,  bright-eyed 
damsel !  Think  what  she  was,  sir.  It 
makes  my  heart  ache  now,  even  now, 
though  I  'm  an  old  man  with  a  woman  for 
a  dauo-hter,  to  think  what  she  was,  and 
what  she  is.  We  all  change,  but  that's 
with  Time ;  Time  does  his  work  iionestly, 
and  I  don't  mind  him.  A  fig  for  Time,  sir. 
Use  him  well,  and  he's  a  hearty  fellow, 
and  scorns  to  have  you  at  a  disadvantage. 
But  care  and  suffering  (and  those  have 
changed  h'-v)  are  devils,  sir,  —  secret, 
stealthy,  undermining  devils  —  who  tread 
down  the  brightest  flowers  in  Eden,  and  do 
more  havoc  in  a  month  than  Time  does  in 
a  year.  Picture  to  yourself  for  one  minute 
what  Mary  was  before  they  went  to  work 
with  her  fresh  heart  and  face — do  her  that 
justice — and  say  whether  such  a  thing  is 
possible." 

"  You  're  a  good  fellow,  Varden,"  said 
Mr,  Haredale,  "and  are  quite  right.  I 
have  brooded  on  that  subject  so  long,  that 
every  breath  of  suspicion  carries  me  back 
to  it.     You  are  quite  right." 

•'  It  isn't,  sir,"  cried  the  locksmith  with 
brightened  eyes,  and  sturdy,  honest  voice; 
•*it  ien't  because  I    courted    her  before 


Rudge,  and  failed,  that  I  say  she  was  too 

good  for  him.  She  would  have  been  as 
much  loo  good  t()r  iiie.  But  she  was  too 
good  for  him;  he  wasn't  free  and  frank 
enough  for  her,  I  don't  reproach  his  me- 
mory with  it,  poor  fellow ;  I  only  want  to 
put  her  before  you  as  she  really  was.  For 
myself,  I  'II  keep  her  old  picture  in  my 
mind  ;  and  thinking  of  that,  and  what  has 
altered  her,  I'll  stand  her  friend,  and  try 
to  win  her  back  to  peace.  And  damme, 
sir,"  cried  Gabriel,  "  with  your  pardon  fi  r 
the  word,  1  'd  do  the  same  if  she  had  mar- 
ried fifty  highwaymen  in  a  twelvemonth  _ 
and  think  it  in  the  Protestant  Manual  too, 
though  Martha  said  it  wasn't,  tooth  and 
nail,  till  doomsday !" 

If  the  dark  little  parlour  had  been  filled 
with  a  dense  fog,  which,  clearing  away  in 
an  instant,  left  it  all  radiance  and  bright- 
ness, it  could  not  have  been  more  suddenly 
cheered  than  by  this  outbreak  on  the  part 
of  the  hearty  locksmith.  In  a  voice  nearly 
as  full  and  round  as  his  own,  Mr.  Haredale 
cried,  "Well  said!"  and  bade  him  come 
away  without  more  parley.  The  locksmith 
complied  right  willingly;  and  both  getting 
into  a  hackney-coach  which  was  waiting  at 
the  door,  drove  off  straightway. 

They  alighted  at  the  street  corner,  and, 
dismissino"  their  conveyance,  walked  to  the 
house.  To  their  first  knock  at  the  door 
there  was  no  response.  A  second  met  with 
the  like  result.  But  in  answer  to  the  third, 
which  was  of  a  more  vigorous  kind,  the 
parlour  window-sash  was  gently  raised, 
and  a  musical  voice  cried: 

"  Haredale,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  ex- 
tremely glad  to  see  you.  How  very  much 
you  have  improved  in  your  appearance  since 
our  last  meeting  !  I  never  saw  you  luuk- 
ing  better.     //oj«  do  you  do  !" 

Mr.  Haredale  turned  his  eyes  towards 
the  casement  whence  the  voice  proceeded, 
though  there  was  no  need  to  do  so,  to  re- 
cognize the  speaker,  and  Mr.  Chester  waved 
his  hand,  and  smiled  a  courteous  welcome, 

"The  door  will  be  opened  immediately," 
he  said.  "  There  is  nobody  but  a  very  di- 
lapidated female  to  perform  such  offices. 
You  will  excuse  her  infirmities'!  If  she 
were  in  a  more  elevated  station  of  society, 
she  would  be  gouty.  Being  but  a  hewer  ot 
wood  and  drav/er  of  water,  she  is  rheumatic. 
My  dear  Haredale,  these  are  natural  class 
distinctions,  depend  upon  it." 

Mr.  Haredale,  whose  face  resumed  its 
lowering  and  distrustfiil  look  the  moment 
he  heard  the  voice,  inclined  his  head  stiffly, 
and  turned  his  back  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Not  opened  yet !"  said  Mr,  Chester. 
"  Dear  me !  I  hope  the  aged  soul  has  not 
caught  her  foot  in  some  unlucky  cobweb  hy 


116 


BARNARY    RUDGE. 


the  way.  She  is  there  at  last !  Come  in, 
I  beg !" 

Mr.  Haredale  entered,  followed  by  the 
locksmith.  Turning  with  a  look  of  great 
astonitihment  to  the  old  woman  who  had 
opened  the  door,  ho  inquired  for  Mrs.  Rudge 
— for  Barnaby.  They  were  both  gone,  she 
replied,  wagging  her  ancient  iiead,  for  good. 
There  was  a  gentleman  in  the  parlour,  who 
perhaps  could  tell  them  more.  That  was 
all  she  knew." 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  present- 
ing himself  before  this  new  tenant,  "  where 
is  the  person  whom  I  came  here  to  see  1" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  returned,  "I  have 
not  the  least  idea." 

'•  Your  trifling  is  ill-limed,"  retorted  the 
other  in  a  suppressed  tone  and  voice,  "and 
its  suhjcct  iil-cliosen.  Reserve  it  for  those 
who  are  your  friends,  and  do  not  expend  it 
on  me.  I  lay  no  claim  to  the  distinction, 
and  have  the  self-denial  to  reject  it." 

"  My  dear,  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
"you  are  heated  with  walking.  Sit  down, 
I  beg.     Our  friend  is " 

"  Is  but  a  plain  honest  man,"  returned 
Mr.  Haredale,  "  and  quite  unworthy  of  your 
notice." 

"  Gabriel  Varden  by  name,  sir,"  said  the 
locksmith  bluntly. 

"  A  worthy  English  yeoman  !"  said  Mr. 
Chester.  "A  most  worthy  yeoman,  of 
whom  1  have  frequently  heard  my  son  Ned 
—  darling  fellow  —  speak,  and  have  often 
wished  to  see.  Varden,  my  good  friend,  1 
am  glad  to  know  you.  You  wonder  now," 
he  said,  turning  languidly  to  Mr.  Haredale, 
"  to  see  me  here.    Now,  I  am  sure  you  do." 

Mv.  Haredale  glanced  at  him — not  fond- 


ly or  admiringly  —  smiled,  and  held  his 
peace. 

"  The  mystery  is  solved  in  a  moment," 
said  Mr.  Chester;  "in  a  moment.  Will 
you  step  aside  with  me  one  instant.  Yoj 
remember  our  little  compact  in  reference 
to  Ned,  and  your  dear  niece,  Haredale? 
You  remember  the  list  of  assistants  in  their 
innocent  intrigue"!  You  remember  these 
two  people  being  among  them?  My  dear 
fellow,  congratulate  yourself,  and  me.  I 
have  bought  them  off." 

"You  have  done  what?"  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale. 

"  Bought  them  off,"  returned  his  smiling 
friend.  "  I  have  found  it  necessary  to  take 
some  active  steps  towards  setting  this  boy 
and  girl  attachment  quite  at  rest,  and  have 
begun  by  removing  these  two  agents.  You 
aie  surprised?  Who  can  withstand  the 
influence  of  a  little  money  !  They  wanted 
it,  and  have  been  bought  off".  We  have 
nothing  more  to  fear  from  them.  They  are 
gone." 

"  Gone  !"  echoed  Mr.  Haredale.  — 
"Where? 

"  My  dear  fellow — and  you  must  permit 
me  to  say  again,  that  you  never  looked  so 
young;  so  positively  boyish  as  you  do  to- 
night— the  Lord  knows  where;  I  believe 
Columbus  himself  wouldn't  find  them.  Be- 
tween you  and  me  they  have  their  hidden 
reasons,  but  upon  that  point  I  have  pledged 
myself  to  secresy.  She  appointed  to  see 
you  here  to-night  I  know,  but  found  it  in- 
convenient, and  couldn't  wait.  Here  is 
the  key  of  the  door.  I  am  afraid  you  '11 
find  it  inconveniently  large ;  but  as  the  ten- 
ement is  yours,  your  good-nature  will  ex- 
cuse that.  Haredale,  I  am  certain !" 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


117 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-SEVEiNTH. 


Mr.  Haredalb  stood  in  the  widow's 
parlour  wiili  iIk;  door-key  in  iiis  hand,  gaz- 
ing' by  turns  at  Mr.  Chester  and  at  Gabriel 
Viirden,  and  occasionally  glancing  down- 
ward at  tlie  key  as  in  the  hope  that  of  its 
own  accord  it  would  unlock  the  mystery  ; 
until  Mr.  Che-stcr,  putting  on  his  hat  and 
gloves,  and  sweetly  inquiring  whether  they 
were  walking  in  the  same  direction,  recalled 
him  to  himself. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Our  roads  diverge  — 
widely,  as  you  know.  For  the  present,  I 
shall  remain  here." 

"  You  will  be  hipped,  Haredale ;  you  will 
be  miserable,  melancholy,  utterly  wretch- 
ed," returned  the  other.  "  It  is  a  place  of 
the  very  last  description  for  a  man  of  your 
temper.  I  know  it  will  make  you  very 
miserable." 

"Let  it,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  sitting 
down  ;  "  and  thrive  upon  the  thought.  Good 
night!" 

Feigning  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the 
abrupt  wave  of  the  hand  which  rendered 
this  farewell  tantamount  to  a  dismissal,  Mr. 
Chester  retorted  with  a  bland  and  heartfelt 
benediction,  and  inquired  of  Gabriel  in  what 
direction  he  was  going. 

"  Yours,  sir,  would  be  too  much  honour 
for  the  like  of  me,"  replied  the  locksmith, 
hesitating. 

"  I  wish  you  to  remain  here  a  little  while, 
Varden,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  without  look- 
ing towards  them.  "  I  have  a  word  or  two 
to  say  to  you." 

"  I  will  not  intrude  upon  your  conference 
another  moment,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  with 
inconceivable  politeness.  "  May  it  be  satis- 
factory to  you  both  !  God  bless  you  !"  So 
saying,  and  bestowing  upon  the  locksmith 
a  most  refulgent  smile,  he  left  them. 

"  A  deplorably  constituted  creature,  that 
rugged  person,"  he  said,  as  he  walked  along 
the  street:  "he  is  an  atrocity  that  carries 
its  own  punishment  along  with  it  —  a  bear 
that  gnaws  himself.  And  here  is  one  of 
the  inestimable  advantages  of  having  a  per- 
fect command  over  one's  inclinations.  I 
have  been  tempted  in  these  two  short  inter- 
views, to  draw  upon  that  fellow,  fifty  times. 
Five  men  in  six  would  have  yielded  to  the 
impulse.  By  suppressing  mine,  I  wound 
him  deeper  and  more  keenly  than  if  I  were 
the  best  swordsman  in  all  Europe,  and  he 
the  worst.  You  are  the  wise  man's  very 
last  resource,"  he  said,  tapping  the  hilt  of 
his  weapon;  "we  can  but  appeal  to  you 
when  all  else  is  said  and  done.  To  come 
to  you  before,  and  thereby  spare  our  adver- 
8 


saries  so  much,  is  a  barbarian  mode  of  war^ 
fare,  quite  unworthy  any  man  with  the  re- 
motest pretensions  to  delicacy  of  feelmg,  or 
refinement." 

He  smiled  so  very  pleasantly  as  he  com- 
muned with  himself  after  this  manner,  that 
a  beggar  was  emboldened  to  follow  him  for 
alms,  and  to  dog  his  footsteps  for  some  dis- 
tance. He  was  gratified  by  the  circum- 
stance, feeling  it  complimentary  to  his 
power  of  feature;  and  as  a  reward,  suffered 
the  man  to  follow  him  until  he  called  a 
chair,  when  he  graciously  dismissed  him 
with  a  fervent  blessing. 

"  Which  is  as  easy  as  cursing,"  he  wisely 
added,  as  he  took  his  seat,  "  and  more  be- 
coming to  the  face. — To  Clerkenwell,  my 
good  creatures,  if  you  please!"  The  chair- 
men were  rendered  quite  vivacious  by  hav- 
ing such  a  courteous  burden,  and  to  Clerk- 
enwell they  went  at  a  fair  round  trot. 

Alighting  at  a  certain  point  he  had  indi- 
cated to  them  upon  the  road,  and  paying 
them  something  less  than  they  had  expect- 
ed from  a  fare  of  such  gentle  speech,  he 
turned  into  the  street  in  which  the  lock- 
smith dwelt,  and  presently  stood  beneath 
the  shadow  of  the  Golden  Key.  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit,  who  was  hard  at  work  by  lamp-light, 
in  a  corner  of  the  workshop,  remained  un- 
conscious of  his  presence,  until  a  hand  upon 
his  shoulder  made  him  start  and  turn  his 
head. 

"  Industry,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  is  the 
soul  of  business,  and  the  key-stone  of  pros- 
perity. Mr.  Tappertit,  I  shall  expect  you 
to  invite  me  to  dinner,  when  you  are  Lord 
Mayor  of  London." 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  'prentice,  laying 
down  his  hammer,  and  rubbing  his  nose  on 
the  back  of  a  very  sooty  hand,  "I  scorn  the 
Lord  Mayor,  and  everything  that  belongs 
to  him.  We  must  have  another  state  of  so- 
ciety, sir,  before  you  catch  nie  being  Lord 
Mayor.     How  de  do  sir]" 

"The  better,  Mr.  Tappertit,  for  looking 
into  your  ingenuous  face  once  more.  I  hope 
you  are  well." 

"  I  am  as  well,  sir,"  said  Sim,  standing 
up  to  get  nearer  to  his  ear,  and  whispering 
hoarsely,  "  as  any  man  can  be  under  the 
aggrawations  to  which  I  am  exposed.  My 
life's  a  burden  to  me.  If  it  wasn't  for 
wengeance,  I  'd  play  at  pitch  and  loss  with 
it  on  the  losing  hazard." 

"Is  Mrs.  Varden  at  home?"  said  Mr. 
Chester. 

"  Sir,"  returned  Sim,  eyeing  him  ovex 


118 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


with  a  look  of  concentrated  expression, — 
*'  she  is.     Did  you  wish  to  see  her  J" 

Mr.  Chester  nodded. 

"Tiien  come  this  way,  sir,"  said  Sim, 
wiping  his  face  upon  liis  apron.  "  Follow 
me,  sir. — Would  you  permit  me  to  whisper 
in  your  ear,  one  half  a  second  1" 

"  By  all  means." 

Mr.  Tappertit  raised  himself  on  tiptoe, 
applied  his  lips  to  Mr.  Chester's  ear,  drew 
back  his  head  without  saying  anything, 
looked  hard  at  him,  applied  them  to  his  ear 
again,  again  drew  bjick,  and  finally  whis- 
pered "  The  name  is  Joseph  VVillet.  H  ush  ! 
1  say  no  more." 

Having  said  that  much,  he  beckoned  the 
visiter  with  a  mysterious  aspect  to  follow 
him  to  the  parlour  door,  where  he  an- 
nounced him  m  the  voice  of  a  gentleman- 
usher.     "Mr.  Chester." 

"And  not  Mr.  Ed'dard,  mind,"  said  Sim, 
looking  into  the  door  again,  and  adding  this 
by  way  of  postscript  in  his  own  person ; 
"  it 's  his  father." 

"But  do  not  let  his  father,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  advancing  hat  in  hand,  as  he  ob- 
served the  efl'ect  of  this  last  explanatory 
announcement,  "do  not  let  his  fallier  be 
any  check  or  restraint  on  your  domestic  oc- 
cupations, Miss  Varden." 

"Oh!  Now!  There!  An't  I  always 
a  saying  it!"  exclaimed  Miggs,  clapping 
her  hands.  "  If  he  an't  been  and  took 
Mi.-sis  for  her  own  daughter.  Well,  she 
do  louk  like  it,  that  she  do.  Ony  think  of 
that,  mim !" 

"  Is  it  possible,'"  said  Mr.  Chester  in  his 
softest  tones,  "  that  this  is  Mrs.  Varden  !  I 
am  amazed.  That  is  noi  your  daughter, 
Mrs.  Varden  1     No,  no      Your  sister?' 

"  My  daughter,  indeed,  sir,"  returned 
Mrs,  v.,  blushing  with  great  juvenility. 

"  Ail,  Mrs  Varden  !"  cried  the  visiter. 
"Ail,  ma'am — humanity  is  indeed  a  iiappy 
lot,  when  we  can  repeat  ourselves  in  others, 
and  still  be  young  as  they.  You  must  allow 
me  to  salute  you — the  custom  of  the  coun- 
try, my  dear  madam — your  daughter  too." 

Dolly  showed  .«ome  reluctance  to  perform 
this  ceremony,  but  was  sharply  reproved  by 
Mrs.  Varden,  who  insisted  on  her  undergo- 
ing it  that  minute.  For  pride,  she  said 
with  great  seventy,  was  one  of  the  seven  ; 
deadly  sins,  and  humility  and  lowliness  of  | 
he^irt  were  virtues.  Wherefore  she  de-  ' 
sircu  liiat  Dolly  would  be  kissed  immedi- 
ately, on  pain  of  her  just  displeasure;  at 
the  same  time  giving  her  to  understand  that 
whatever  she  saw  her  mother  do,  she  might 
eafely  do  herself,  without  being  at  the 
trouble  of  any  reasoning  or  reflection  on  the 
Buhjf'Ct — which,  indeed,  was  offensive  and 
'Jiidutiful,  and  in  direct  contravention  of  the 
\,l:;ircli  catechism.  I 


Thus  admonished,  Dolly  complied,  though 
by  no  means  willingly  ;  for  there  was  a 
broad,  bold  look  of  admiration  in  Mr.  Ches- 
ter's face,  refined  and  polished  though  it 
sought  to  be,  which  distressed  her  very 
much.  As  she  stood  with  downcast  eyes, 
not  liking  to  look  up  and  meet  his,  he  gazed 
upon  her  with  an  approving  air,  and  then 
turned  to  her  mother. 

"  My  friend  Gabriel  (whose  acquaintance 
I  only  made  this  very  evening)  should  be  a 
happy  man,  Mrs.  Varden." 

"  Ah !"  sighed  Mrs.  V.,  shaking  her 
head. 

"  Ah !"  echoed  Migge. 

"Is  that  the  case?"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
compassionately.     "  Dear  me  !" 

"  Master  has  no  intentions,  sir,"  murmur- 
ed Miggs,  as  she  sidled  up  to  him,  "  but  to 
be  as  grateful  as  his  natur  will  let  him,  for 
everything  he  owns  which  it  is  in  his  pow- 
ers to  appreciate.  But  we  never,  sir,"  — 
said  Miggs,  looking  sideways  at  Mrs.  Var- 
den, and  interlarding  her  discourse  with  a 
sigh  —  "  we  never  know  the  full  value  of 
some  wines  and  fig-trees  till  we  lose  'em. 
So  much  the  worse,  sir,  for  them  as  has  the 
slighting  of  'em  on  their  consciences  when 
they're  gone  to  be  in  full  blow  elsewhere." 
And  Miss  Miggs  cast  up  her  eyes  to  signify 
where  that  might  be. 

As  Mrs.  Varden  distinctly  heard,  and  was 
intended  to  hear,  all  that  Miggs  said,  and 
as  these  words  appeared  to  convey  in  meta- 
phorical terms  a  presage  or  foreboding  that 
she  would  at  some  early  period  droop  be- 
neath her  trials  and  take  an  easy  flight  to- 
wards the  stars,  she  immediately  began  to 
languish,  and  takinga  volume  of  the  Manual 
from  a  neighbouring  table,  leant  her  arm 
upon  it  as  though  she  were  Hope  and  that 
her  Anchor.  Mr.  Chester  perceiving  this, 
and  seeing  how  the  volume  was  lettered  on 
the  back,  took  it  gently  from  her  hand,  and 
turned  the  fluttering  leaves. 

"  My  favourite  book,  dear  madam.  How 
often,  how  very  often  in  his  early  life  —  be- 
fore he  can  remember" — (this  clause  waa 
strictly  true)  "  have  I  deduced  little  easy 
moral  lessons  from  its  pages,  for  my  dear 
son  Ned  !     You  know  Ned  ]" 

Mrs.  Varden  had  that  honour,  and  a  fine 
afl^fible  young  gentleman  he  was. 

"You're  a  mother,  Mrs.  Vi.nii  n,"  said 
Mr.  Chester,  taking  a  pinch  of  snuflj  "and 
you  know  what  I,  as  a  father,  feel,  when  he 
is  praised.  He  gives  me  some  uneasinesj 
—  much  uneasiness — he's  of  a  roving  na- 
ture, ma'am — from  flower  to  flower — from 
sweet  to  sweet  —  but  his  is  the  butterfly 
time  of  life,  and  we  must  not  be  hard  upon 
such  trifling." 

He  glanced  at  Dolly.     She  was  attend- 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


19 


ing  evidently  to  what  he  said.  Just  what 
he  desired  ! 

"  The  only  thinfj  I  object  to  in  this  little 
trait  of  Ned's,  is,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  " — and 
the  mention  of  i>is  name  reminds  me,  by  the 
way,  that  I  am  about  to  beor  the  favour  of  a 
minute's  talk  with  you  alone  —  the  only 
thing  I  object  to  in  it,  is,  that  it  does  par- 
take of  insincerity.  Now,  however  I  may 
attempt  to  disguise  the  fact  from  myself  in 
my  affection  for  Ned,  still  I  always  revert 
to  this — that  if  we  are  not  sincere,  we  are 
nothing.  Nothing  upon  earth.  Let  us  be 
sincere,  my  dear  madam " 

"  —  and  Protestant,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Varden. 

" — and  Protestant  above  all  things.  Let 
us  be  sincere  and  Protestant,  strictly  moral, 
strictly  just,  (though  always  with  a  leaning 
towards  mercy,)  strictly  honest,  and  strictly 
true,  and  we  gain — it  is  a  slight  point,  cer- 
tainly, but  still  it  is  something  tantjible  ;  we 
throw  up  a  groundwork  and  foundation,  so  to 
speak,  of  goodness,  on  which  we  may  after- 
wards erect  some  worthy  superstructure." 

Now,  to  be  sure,  Mrs.  Varden  thought, 
here  is  a  perfect  character.  Here  is  a  meek, 
righteous,  thorough-going  Christian,  who, 
having  mastered  all  these  qualities,  so  diffi- 
cult of  attainment;  who,  having  dropped  a 
pinch  of  salt  on  the  tails  of  all  the  cardinal 
virtues,  and  caught  them  every  one ;  makes 


light  of  their  possession,  and  pants  for  more 
morality.  For  the  good  wonrin  never 
doubted  (as  many  good  men  and  women 
never  do,)  that  this  slighting  kind  of  pro- 
fession, this  setting  so  little  store  by  great 
matters,  this  seeming  to  say,  "  I  am  not 
proud,  1  am  what  you  hear,  but  I  consider 
myself  no  better  than  other  people;  let  us 
change  the  subject,  pray" —  was  perfectly 
genuine  and  true.  He  so  contrived  it,  and 
said  it  in  that  way  that  it  appeared  to  have 
been  forced  from  him,  and  its  effect  was 
marvellous. 

Aware  of  the  impression  he  had  made — 
few  men  were  quicker  than  he  at  such  dis- 
coveries— Mr.  Chester  followed  up  the  blow 
by  propounding  certain  virtuous  maxims, 
somewhat  vague  and  general  in  their  na- 
ture, doubtless,  and  occasionally  partaking 
of  the  character  of  truisms,  worn  a  litlle  out 
at  elbow,  but  delivered  in  so  charming  a 
voice,  and  with  such  uncommon  serenity 
and  peace  of  mind,  that  they  answered  as 
well  as  the  best.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered 
at ;  for  as  hollow  vessels  send  f()rth  a  far 
more  musical  sound  in  falling  than  those 
which  are  substantial,  so  it  wiil  oftentimes 
be  found  that  sentiments  which  have  no- 
thing in  them  make  the  loudest  ringing  in 
the  world,  and  are  the  most  relished. 

Mr.  Chester,  with  the  volume  gentl^''  e.x- 
tended  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  othei 


\^^. 


120 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


plan'nd  lifrlitly  on  his  breast,  talked  to  them  I 
in  the  in().-it  delicious  manner  possible;  and  i 
quite  enchanted  all  his  hearers,  notwith- 
standinij  their  conflictinrj  interests  and 
thouirhls.  Even  Dolly,  who,  between  his 
keen  recrards  and  her  eyeinij  over  by  Mr. 
Tappcrtit,  was  put  quite  out  of  countenance, 
could  not  help  owninof  within  herself  that 
he  was  the  sweetest-spoken  (gentleman  she 
had  ever  seen.  Even  Sliss  Mifirjrs,  who  was 
divided  between  admiration  of  Mr.  Chester 
and  a  mortal  jealousy  of  her  young  mi.stress, 
had  sufficient  leisure  to  be  propitiated. 
Even  Mr.  Tappertit,  thouirh  occupied  as  we 
have  seen  in  fjazinjr  at  his  heart's  delijjht, 
could  not  wholly  divert  his  thouf^hts  from 
the  voice  of  the  other  charmer.  Mrs.  Var- 
den,  to  her  own  private  thinking,  had  never 
been  so  improved  in  all  her  life;  and  when 
Mr.  Chester,  rising  and  craving  permission 
to  speak  with  her  apart,  took  her  by  the 
hand  and  led  her  at  arm's  length  up  stairs 
to  the  best  sitting-room,  she  almost  deemed 
nim  something  more  than  human. 

"  Dear  madam,"  he  said,  pressing  her 
hand  delicately  to  his  lips;  "be  seated." 

Mrs.  Varden  called  up  quite  a  courtly 
air,  and  became  seated. 

"  You  guess  my  object !"  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, drawing  a  chair  towards  her.  "  You 
diviife  my  purpose  1  I  am  an  affectionate 
parent,  my  dear  Mrs.  Varden." 

"That  I  am  sure  you  are,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  V. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  Mr.  Chester, 
tapping  his  snuff-box  lid.  "  Heavy  moral 
responsibilities  rest  with  parents,  Mrs. 
Varden." 

Mrs.  Varden  slightly  raised  her  hands, 
shook  her  head,  and  looked  at  the  ground 
as  though  she  saw  straight  through  the 
globe,  out  at  the  other  end,  and  into  the 
immensity  of  space  beyond. 

"  I  may  confide  in  you,"  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, "  without  reserve.  I  love  my  son, 
ma'am,  dearly;  and  loving  him  as  I  do,  I 
would  save  him  from  working  certain  mi- 
sery. You  know  of  his  attachment  to  Miss 
Haredale.  You  have  abetted  him  in  it, 
and  very  kind  of  you  it  was  to  do  so.  I  am 
deep]  V  obliged  to  you — most  deeply  obliged 
to  you — for  your  interest  in  his  behalf;  but 
my  dear  ma'am,  it  is  a  mistaken  one,  I  do 
assure  you." 

Mrs.  Varden  stammered  that  she  was 
sorry 

"  Sony,  my  dear  ma'am,"  he  interposed. 
"Never  be  sorry  for  wtiat  is  so  very  amia- 
hie,  so  v.ery  good  in  intention,  so  perfectly 
like  yourself.  But  there  are  grave  and 
weighty  reasons,  pressing  family  considera- 
tions, and  apart  even  from  these,  points  of 
•elisrious  diffl-rence,  which  interpose  them- 
elves,  and  render  tfieir  union  impossible; 


utterly  im-possible.  T  should  have  men- 
tioned these  circumstances  to  your  husband ; 
but  he  has — you  will  excuse  my  saying  thia 
so  freely — he  has  not  your  quickness  of  ap- 
prehension, or  depth  of  moral  sense.  What 
an  extremely  airy  house  this  is,  and  how 
beautifully  kept!  For  one  like  niyse'l— a 
widower  so  long — these  tokens  of  f'-male 
care  and  superintendence  have  inexpressi- 
ble charms." 

Mrs.  Varden  began  Vo  think  (she scarcely 
knew  why)  that  the  young  Mr.  Chester 
must  be  in  the  wrong,  and  the  old  Mr. 
Chester  must  be  in  the  right. 

"  My  son  Ned,"  resumed  her  tempter, 
with  his  most  winning  air,  "  has  had,  I  am 
told,  your  lovely  daughter's  aid,  and  your 
open-hearted  husbiind's." 

"  — Much  more  than  mine,  sir,"  said  Mra 
Varden  ;  "  a  ffreat  deal  more.  1  have  oflea 
had  my  doubts.     It's  a " 

"A  bad  example,"  suufgested  Mr.  Chea- 
ter. "  It  is.  No  doubt  it  is.  Your  daugh- 
ter is  at  that  age  when  to  set  before  her  an 
encouragement  for  yoimg  persons  to  rebel 
against  their  parents  on  this  most  important 
point,  is  particularly  injudicious.  You  are 
quite  right.  1  ought  to  have  thought  of 
that  myself,  but  it  escaped  me,  I  confess — 
so  far  superior  are  your  sex  to  ours,  dear 
madam,  in  point  of  penetration  and  sa- 
gacity." 

Mrs.  Varden  looked  as  wise  as  if  she  had 
really  said  something  to  deserve  this  com- 
pliment—  firinly  believed  she  had,  in  shorl 
— and  her  faith  in  her  own  shrewdness  in- 
creased considerably. 

"  My  dear  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
"you  embolden  me  to  be  plain  with  you. 
My  son  and  I  are  at  variance  on  this  point. 
The  young  l;uly  and  her  natural  guardian 
differ  upon  it,  n]>o.  And  the  closing  point 
is,  that  my  son  is  bound  by  his  duty  to  me, 
by  his  honour,  by  every  solemn  tie  and  obli- 
gation, to  marry  some  one  else." 

"Engaged  to  marry  another  lady  !"  quoth 
Mrs.  Varden,  lioKling  up  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  madam,  brought  up,  educated, 
and  trained,  expressly  for  that  purpose. 
Expressly  fiir  tiiat  purpose.  —  Miss  Hare- 
dale,  I  am  told,  is  a  very  charming  crea- 
ture. 

"1  am  her  foster-mother,  and  should 
know — the  best  young  lady  in  the  world," 
said  Mrs.  Varden. 

"  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  of  it.  I 
am  sure  she  is.  And  you,  who  have  stood 
in  that  tender  relation  towards  her,  are 
hound  to  con-ult  her  happmess.  Now,  can 
I — as  I  have  .said  to  Haredale,  who  quite 
agrees — can  1  possibly  stand  by,  and  suffer 
her  to  tliro'v  herself  away  (although  she  is 
of  a  catholic  fnnily),  upon  a  young  fellow 
who,  as  yet,  has  no  heart  at  all  1     It  is  no 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


121 


imputation  upon  him  to  say  he  has  not,  be- 1 
cause  young  men  who  have  phin£reci  doep-  ! 
ly  into  the  frivolities  and  conventionalities 
of  society,  very  seldom  have.  Their  hearts 
never  prow,  my  dear  ma'am,  till  after  thir- 
ty. I  dcin't  believe,  no,  I  do  not  believe,  i 
that  I  had  any  heart  myself  when  I  was 
Ned's  age." 

"  Oh.  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  "  I  think 
you  must  have  had.  It 's  impossible  that 
you,  who  have  so  much  now,  can  ever  have 
been  without  any." 

"  I  hope,"  he  answered,  shrug-ging'  his 
shoulders  meekly,  "  I  have  a  little  ;  I  hope, 
a  very  little — Heaven  knows!  But  to  re- 
turn to  Ned ;  I  have  no  doubt  you  thought, 
and  therefore  interfered  benevolently  in 
his  behiilf,  that  I  objected  to  Miss  Hare- 
dale.  How  very  natural  !  My  dear  ma- 
dam, I  object  to  him — to  him — emphatical- 
ly to  Ned  himself." 

Mrs.  Varden  was  perfectly  aghast  at  the 
disclosure. 

"He  has,  if  he  honourably  fulfils  this 
solemn  obligation  of  which  I  have  told  you 
— and  he  must  be  honourable,  dear  Mrs. 
Varden,  or  he  is  no  son  of  mine — a  fortune 
within  his  reach.  He  is  of  most  expen- 
sive, ruinously  expensive  habits;  and  if, 
in  a  moment  of  caprice  and  wilfulness,  he 
were  to  marry  this  young  lady,  and  so  de- 
prive himself  of  the  means  of  gratifying 
the  tastes  to  which  he  has  been  so  long  ac- 
customed, he  would — my  dear  madam,  he 
would  break  the  gentle  creature's  heart, 
Mrs.  Varden,  my  good  lady,  my  dear  soul, 
I  put  it  to  you — is  such  a  sacrifice  to  be 
endured  ]  Is  the  female  heart  a  thing  to 
be  trifled  with  in  this  way  ?  Ask  your 
own,  my  dear  madam.  Ask  your  own,  I 
beseech  you." 

"  Truly,"  thought  Mrs.  Varden,  "  this 
gentleman  is  a  saint.  But,"  she  added 
aloud,  and  not  unnaturally,  "  if  you  take 
Miss  Emma's  lover  away,  sir,  what  be- 
comes of  the  poor  thing's  heart,  then?" 

"  The  very  point,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  not 
at  all  abashed,  "  to  which  I  wished  to  lead 
you.  A  marriage  with  my  son,  whom  I 
should  be  compelled  to  disown,  would  be 
followed  by  years  of  misery ;  they  would 
be  separated,  my  dear  madam,  in  a  twelve- 
month. To  break  off"  this  attachment,  I 
which  is  more  fancied  than  real,  as  you  | 
and  I  know  very  well,  will  cost  the  dear  j 
girl  but  a  few  tears,  and  she  is  happy  again. 
Take  the  case  of  your  own  daughter,  the 
young  lady  down  stairs,  who  is  your  breath- 
ing image"  —  Mrs.  Varden  cou<rhed  and 
oimpered — "there  is  a  3'oimg  mun,  (I  am 
sorry  to  say,  a  dissolute  fellow,  of  very  in- 
different ciiaracter,)  of  whom  I  have  heard 
Ned  speak— Bullet,  was  it — Pullet — Mul- 


"  There  is  a  young  man  of  the  name  of 
Joseph  Willet,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  fold- 
ing her  hands  loftily. 

"That 's  he,"  cried  Mr.  Chester.  "  Sup- 
pose this  Joseph  Willet,  now,  were  to  as- 
pire to  the  aflections  of  your  chaiming 
daughter,  and  were  to  engage  them." 

"  It  would  be  like  his  impudence,"  ih- 
terposed  Mrs.  Varden,  bridling,  "to dare  to 
think  of  such  a  thing!" 

"  My  dear  madam,  that 's  the  whole  case. 
I  know  it  would  be  like  his  impudence.  It 
is  like  Ned's  impudence  to  do  as  he  has 
done;  but  you  would  not  on  that  account, 
or  because  of  a  few  tears  from  your  beauti- 
ful daughter,  refrain  from  checking  their 
inclinations  in  their  birth.  I  meant  to  have 
reasoned  thus  with  your  husband,  when  I 
saw  him  at  Mrs.  Rudge's  this  evening — " 

"  My  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  inter- 
posing with  emotion,  "  would  be  a  great 
deal  better  at  home,  than  going  to  INIrs. 
Rudge's  so  often,  I  don't  know  what  he 
does  there.  I  don't  see  what  occasion  he 
has  to  busy  himself  in  her  afi'airs  at  all, 
sir." 

"  If  I  don't  appear  to  express  my  con- 
currence in  those  last  sentiments  of  yours," 
returned  Mr.  Chester,  "quite  so  strongly  as 
you  might  desire,  it  is  because  his  being 
"there,  my  dear  madam,  and  not  proving  con- 
versational, led  me  hither,  and  procured 
me  the  happiness  of  this  interview  with 
one,  in  whom  the  whole  management,  con- 
duct, and  prosperity  of  her  family  are  cen- 
tred, I  perceive." 

VVith  that  he  took  Mrs.  Varden's  hand 
again,  and  having  pressed  it  to  his  lips 
with  the  high-flown  gallantry  of  the  day — 
a  little  burlesqued,  to  render  it  the  more 
striking  in  the  good  lady's  unaccustomed 
eyes — proceeded  in  the  same  strain  of  min- 
gled sophistry,  cajolery,  and  flattery,  to  en- 
treat that  her  utmost  influence  might  be 
exerted  to  restrain  her  husband  and  daugh- 
ter from  any  further  promotion  of  Edward's 
suit  to  Miss  Haredale,  and  from  aiding  or 
abetting  either  party  in  any  way.  Mrs. 
Varden  was  but  a  woman,  and  had  her 
share  of  vanity,  obstinacy,  and  love  of  pow- 
er. She  entered  into  a  secret  treaty  of 
alliance,  oiTensive  and  defensive,  with  her 
insinuating  visiter;  and  really  did  believe, 
as  many  others  would  have  done  who  saw 
and  heard  him,  that  in  so  doing  she  fur- 
thered the  ends  of  truth,  justice,  and  m> 
rality,  in  a  very  uncommon  degree. 

Overjoyed  by  the  success  of  his  negotia- 
tion, and  mightily  amused  within  himself. 
Mr.  Chester  conducted  her  down  stairs  ii> 
the  same  state  as  before ;  and  having  re- 
peated the  previous  ceremony  of  sa!ut;ition, 
which  also  as  before  comprehended  Doiiv, 
took  his  leave;  first  completing  the  con 


122 


BARNABY    RUDGE, 


quest  of  Miss  Miggs's  heart,  by  inquirinoj 
if  "  this  young  lady"  would  light  him  to 
the  door. 

"Oh,  mim,"  said  Miggs,  returning  with 
the  candle;  "Oh  gracious  tne,  mini,  there's 
a  gentleman !  Was  there  ever  such  an 
nngel  to  talk  as  he  is— and  such  a  sweet- 
looking  man  !  So  upright  and  noble,  that 
he  seems  to  despise  the  very  ground  he 
walks  on;  and  yet  so  mild  and  condescend- 
ing, that  he  seems  to  say,  •  but  I  will  take 
notice  on  it,  too.'  And  to  think  of  his 
taking  you  for  Miss  Dolly,  and  Miss  Dolly 
for  your  sister — Oh,  my  giwdness  me,  if  I 
was  master  wouldn't  I  be  jealous  of  him  !" 

Mrs.  Varden  reproved  her  handmaid  for 
this  vain-speaking ;  but  very  gently  and 
mildly — quite  smilingly  indeed  —  remark- 
ing that  she  was  a  foolish,  giddy,  light- 
headed girl,  whose  spirits  carried  her  be- 
yond all  bounds,  and  who  didn't  mean  half 


she  said,  or  she  would  be  quite  angry  with 
her. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Dolly,  in  a  thought- 
ful manner,  "  I  half  believe  Mr.  Chester  ia 
something  like  Miggs  in  that  respect.  For 
all  his  politeness  and  pleasant  speaking,  I 
am  pretty  sure  he  was  making  game  of  us, 
more  than  once." 

"  If  you  venture  to  say  such  a  thing  again, 
and  to  speak  ill  of  people  behind  their  backs 
in  my  presence.  Miss,"  said  Mrs.  Varden, 
"I  shall  insist  upon  your  taking  a  candle, 
and  going  to  bed  directly.  How  dare  you, 
Dolly]  I  'm  astonished  at  you.  The  rude- 
ness of  your  whole  behaviour  this  evening 
has  been  disgraceful.  Did  anybody  ever 
hear,"  cried  the  enraged  matron,  bursting 
into  tears,  "of  a  daughter  telling  her  own 
mother  she  has  been  made  game  of!" 

What  a  very  unuertain  temper  Mrs. 
I  Varden's  was ! 


CHAPTER  THE  TVVENTY-EIGHTH. 


Repairing  to  a  noted  coffee-house  in  Co- 
vent  Garden  when  he  left  the  locksmith's, 
Mr.  Chester  sat  long  over  a  late  dinner,  en- 
tertaining himself  exceedingly  with  the 
whimsical  recollection  of  his  recent  proceed- 
ings, and  conjxratulating  himself  very  much 
on  his  great  cleverness.  Influenced  by  tiiese 
thoughts,  his  face  wore  an  expression  so  be- 
nign and  tranquil,  that  the  waiter  in  imme- 
diate attendance  upon  him  felt  he  could  al- 
most have  died  in  his  defence,  and  settled 
in  his  own  mind  (until  the  receipt  of  the 
bill,  and  a  very  small  fee  for  very  great 
trouble  disabused  it  of  the  idea)  that  such 
an  apostolic  customer  was  worth  half-a- 
dozen  of  the  ordinary  run  of  visiters,  at 
least. 

A  visit  to  the  gaming-table  —  not  as  a 
heated,  anxious  venturer,  but  one  whom  it 
was  quite  a  treat  to  see  staking  his  two  or 
three  pieces  in  deference  to  the  follies  of 
society,  and  smiling  with  equal  benevolence 
on  winners  and  losers — made  it  lute  before 
he  reached  home.  It  was  his  custom  to  bid 
ills  servant  go  to  bed  at  his  own  time,  un- 
less he  had  orders  to  the  contrary,  and  to 
leave  a  candle  on  the  common  stair.  There  , 
was  a  lamp  on  the  landing,  by  which  he 
could  always  light  it  when  he  came  home  | 
late,  and  having  a  key  of  the  door  about 
Iiim,  he  could  enter  and  go  to  bed  at  his 
pleasure.  1 


He  opened  the  glass  of  the  dull  lamp, 
whose  wick,  burnt  up  and  swollen  like  a 
drunkard's  nose,  came  flying  off  in  little 
carbuncles  at  the  candle's  touch,  and  scat- 
tering hot  sparks  about,  renderpd  it  matter 
of  some  difficulty  to  kindle  the  lazy  taper; 
when  a  noi^e,  as  of  a  man  snoring  deeply 
some  steps  higher  up,  caused  him  to  pause 
and  listen.  It  was  the  heavy  breathing  of 
a  sleeper,  close  at  hand.  Some  fellow  had 
lain  down  on  the  open  staircase,  and  was 
slumbering  soundly.  Having  lighted  the 
candle  at  length  and  opened  his  own  door, 
he  softly  ascended,  holding  the  taper  high 
above  his  head,  and  peering  cautiously 
about;  curious  to  see  what  kind  of  man  had 
chosen  so  comfortless  a  shelter  for  his  lodg- 
ing. 

With  his  head  upon  the  landing  and  his 
great  limbs  flung  over  half  a  dozen  stairs, 
as  carelessly  as  though  he  were  a  dead  man 
whom  drunken  bearers  had  thrown  down 
by  chance,  there  lay  Hugh,  face  uppermost, 
his  long  hair  drooping  like  some  wild  weed 
upon  his  wooden  pillow,  and  his  huge  chest 
heavins^  with  the  sounds  which  so  unwont- 
edly  disturbed  tlie  place  and  hour. 

He  who  came  upon  him  so  unexpectedly 
was  about  to  break  his  rest  by  thrusting 
him  with  his  foot,  when,  glancing  at  his  up- 
turned face,  he  arrested  himself  in  the  very 
action,  and  stooping  down  and  shading  the 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


129 


candle  with  his  hand,  examined  his  features 
closely.  Close  as  his  first  inspection  was, 
it  (lid  not  suffice,  for  he  passed  the  light, 
still  carefully  shaded  as  before,  across  and 
across  his  fiice,  and  yet  observed  him  with 
a  starching  eye. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  the  sleeper, 
without  any  starting  or  turning  round, 
awoke.  There  was  a  kind  of  fascination  in 
meeting  his  steady  gaze  so  suddenly,  which 
took  from  the  other  the  presence  of  mind  to 
withdraw  his  eyes,  and  forced  him,  as  it 
were,  to  meet  his  look.  So  they  remained 
staring  at  each  other,  until  Mr.  Chester  at 
last  broke  silence,  and  asked  him  in  a  low 
voice,  wliy  he  lay  sleeping  there. 

"  !  thought,"  said  Hugh,  struggling  mto 
a  sitting  po^^ture,  and  gazing  at  him  in- 
tently, still,  "  that  you  were  a  part  of  my 
dream.  It  was  a  curious  one.  I  hope  it 
may  never  come  true,  master." 

"  What  makes  you  shiver  V 

"  The — the  cold,  I  suppose,"  he  growled, 
as  he  shook  himself,  and  rose.  "  I  hardly 
know  where  I  am  yet." 

"  Do  you  know  me  ]"  said  Mr.  Chester. 

"Ay.  I  know  you,"  he  answered.  "I 
was  dreaming  of  you — we're  not  where  I 
thought  we  were.     That's  a  comfort." 

He  looked  round  him  as  he  spoke,  and 
in  particular  looked  above  his  head,  as 
though  he  half  expected  to  be  standing  un- 
der some  object  which  had  had  existence  in 
his  dream.  Then  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
shook  himself  again,  and  followed  his  con- 
ductor into  his  own  rooms. 

Mr.  Chester  lighted  the  candles  which 
stood  upon  his  dressing-table,  and  wheeling 
an  easy  chair  towards  the  fire,  which  was 
yet  burning,  stirred  up  a  cheerful  blaze,  sat 
down  before  it,  and  bade  his  uncouth  visiter 
*♦  Come  here,"  and  draw  his  boots  off. 

"  You  have  been  drinking  again,  my  fine 
fellow,"  he  said,  as  Hugh  went  down  on 
one  knee,  and  did  as  he  was  told. 

"  As  1  'm  alive,  master,  I've  walked  the 
twelve  long  miles,  and  waited  here  I  don't 
know  how  long,  and  had  no  drink  between 
my  lips  since  dinner-time  at  noon." 

"  And  can  you  do  nothing  better,  my 
pleasant  friend,  than  fall  asleep,  and  shake 
the  very  building  with  your  snores'!"  said 
Mr.  Chester.  "Can't  you  dream  in  your 
straw  at  home,  dull  dog  as  you  are,  that  you 
need  come  here  to  do  it  ? — Reach  me  those 
slippers,  and  tread  softly." 

Hugh  obeyed  in  silence. 

"And  harkee,  my  dear  young  gentle- 
man," said  Mr.  Chester,  as  he  put  them  on, 
"  the  next  time  you  dream,  don't  let  it  be 
of  me,  but  of  some  dog  or  horse  with  whom 
you  are  better  acquainted.  Fill  the  glass 
once  —  you  '11  find  it  and  the  bottle  in  the 


same  place — and  empty  it  to  keep  yourself 
awake." 

Hugh  obeyed  again  —  even  more  zeal- 
ously— and  having  done  so,  presented  him- 
self before  his  patron. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "what  do  you 
want  with  mel" 

"There  was  news  to-day,"  returned 
Hugh.  "Your  son  was  at  our  house  — 
came  down  on  horseback.  He  tried  to  see 
the  young  woman,  but  couldn't  get  sight  of 
her.  He  left  some  letter  or  some  message 
which  our  Joe  had  charge  of,  but  he  and 
the  old  one  quarrelled  about  it  when  your 
son  had  gone,  and  the  old  one  wouldn't  let 
it  be  delivered.  He  says  (that's  the  old 
one  does)  that  none  of  his  people  shall  inter- 
fere and  get  him  into  trouble.  He 's  a 
landlord  he  says,  and  lives  on  everybody's 
custom." 

"  He  is  a  jewel,"  smiled  Mr.  Chester, 
"and  the  better  for  being  a  dull  one. — 
Wein" 

"Varden's  daughter — that's  the  girl  I 


"  And  stole  the  bracelet  from  upon  the 
king's  highway,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  com- 
posedly.    "Yes;  what  of  her!" 

"  She  wrote  a  note  at  our  house  to  the 
young  woman,  saying  she  lost  the  letter  I 
brought  to  you,  and  you  burnt.  Our  Joe 
was  to  carry  it,  but  the  old  one  kept  him 
at  home  all  next  day,  on  purpose  that  he 
shouldn't.  Next  morning  he  gave  it  to  me 
to  take;  and  here  it  is." 

"You  didn't  deliver  it  then,  my  good 
friend!"  said  Mr.  Chester,  twirling  Dolly's 
note  between  his  finger  and  tiiumb,  and 
feigning  to  be  surprised. 

"  I  supposed  you  'd  want  to  have  it,"  retort- 
ed Hugh.    "  Burn  one,  burn  all,  I  thought." 

"  My  devil-may-care  acquaintance,"  said 
Mr.  Chester — "really  if  you  do  not  draw 
some  nicer  distinctions,  your  career  will  be 
cut  short  with  most  surprising  suddenness. 
Don't  you  know  that  the  letter  you  brought 
to  me,  was  directed  to  my  son  who  residea 
in  this  very  place?  And  can  you  descry 
no  difference  between  his  letters  and  those 
addressed  to  other  people  !" 

"If  you  don't  want  it,"  said  Hugh,  dis- 
concerted by  this  reproof,  for  he  had  expect 
ed  high  praise,  "give  it  me  back,  and  I'll 
deliver  it.  I  don't  know  how  to  please  you, 
master." 

"  I  shall  deliver  it,"  returned  his  patron, 
putting  it  away  after  a  moment's  consider- 
ation, "  myself.  Does  the  young  lady  walk 
out,  on  fine  mornings!" 

"Mostly — about  noon  is  her  usual  time." 

"Alone!" 

"  Yes,  alone." 

"  Where  ]" 


124 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  In  the  pronnds  before  the  house.  — 
Them  that  the  footpalli  crosses." 

"  If  tlie  weather  slioiild  be  fine,  I  may 
Ihrow  myself  in  her  way  to-morrow,  per- 
haps," said  Mr.  Chester,  as  coolly  as  if  she 
were  one  of  his  ordinary  acquaintance. 
"  Mr.  Fhi^rh,  if  I  should  ride  up  to  the  May- 
polo  door,  you  will  do  me  the  favour  only 
to  have  seen  me  once.  You  must  suppress 
your  i^ratitude,  and  endeavour  to  forget  my 
forbearance  in  the  matter  of  tiie  bracelet. 
It  is  natural  it  sliould  break  out,  and  it  does 
you  honour;  but  when  other  folks  are  by, 
you  must,  for  your  own  sake  and  safety,  be 
as  like  your  usual  self  as  though  you  owed 
me  no  obligation  whatever,  and  had  never 
stood  within  these  walls.  You  comprehend 
me!" 

Hugh  understood  him  perfectly.  After 
a  pause  he  muttered  that  he  hoped  his  pa- 
tron would  involve  him  in  no  trouble  about 
this  last  letter;  for  he  had  kept  it  back  solely 
with  the  view  of  pleasing  him.  He  was 
continuing  in  this  strain,  when  Mr.  Chester 
with  a  most  beneficent  and  patronising  air 
cut  him  short  by  saying; 

"  My  good  fellow,  you  have  my  promise, 
my  word,  my  sealed  bond,  (for  a  verbal 
pledge  with  me  is  quite  as  good,)  that  I  will 
always  protect  you  so  long  as  you  deserve 
it.  Now,  do  set  your  mind  at  rest.  Keep 
it  at  ease,  I  beg  of  you.  When  a  man  puts 
himself  in  my  power  so  thoroughly  as  you 
have  done,  I  really  feel  as  though  he  had  a 
kind  of  claim  upon  me.  I  am  more  dis- 
posed to  mercy  and  forbearance  under  such 
circumstances  than  I  can  tell  you,  Hugh. 
Do  look  upon  me  as  your  protector,  and 
rest  assured,  I  entreat  you,  that  on  the  sub- 
ject of  that  indiscretion,  you  may  preserve, 
us  long  as  you  and  I  are  friends,  the  lightest 
heart  that  ever  beat  within  a  human  breast. 
Fill  that  glass  once  more  to  cheer  you  on 
your  road  homewards  —  I  am  really  quite 
ashamed  to  think  how  far  you  have  to  go — 
and  then  God  bless  you  for  the  night." 
"  They  think,"  said  Hugh,  when  he  had 


tossed  the  liquor  down,  "  that  I  am  sleepii.g 
soundly  in  the  stable.  Ha  ha  iia !  The 
stable  door  is  shut,  but  the  steed 's  gone, 
master." 

"  You  are  a  most  convivial  fellow,"  re- 
turned his  friend,  "  and  1  love  your  humour 
of  all  things.  Good  night!  Take  the 
greatest  possible  care  of  yourself,  for  my 
sake !" 

It  was  remarkable,  that  during  the  whole 
interview,  each  had  endeavoured  to  catch 
stolen  glances  of  the  other's  face,  and  had 
never  looked  full  at  it.  They  interchanged 
one  brief  and  hasty  glance  as  Hugh  went 
i  out,  averted  their  eyes  directly,  and  so  sepa- 
rated. Hugh  closed  the  double  doors  be- 
hind him,  carefully,  and  without  noise; 
and  Mr.  Chester  remained  in  his  easy 
chair,  with  his  gaze  intently  fixed  upon  the 
fire. 

"  Well !"  he  said,  after  meditating  for  a 
long  time  —  and  said  with  a  deep  sigh  and 
an  uneasy  shirting  of  his  attitude,  as  though 
he  dismissed  some  other  subject  from  his 
thoughts,  and  returned  to  that  whicii  had 
held  possession  of  them  all  the  day — "  the 
plot  thickens  ;  I  have  thrown  the  shell ;  it 
will  explode,  I  think,  in  eight-and-forty 
hours,  and  should  scatter  these  good  folks 
amazingly.     We  shall  see  !" 

He  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep,  but  had 
not  slept  long  when  he  started  up  and 
thought  Hugh  was  at  the  outer  door,  call- 
ing in  a  strange  voice,  very  different  from 
his  own,  to  be  admitted.  The  delusion  was 
so  strong  upon  him,  and  was  so  full  of  that 
vague  terror  of  the  night  in  which  such 
visions  have  their  being,  that  he  rose,  and 
taking  his  sheathed  sword  in  his  hand, 
opened  the  door,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
staircase,  and  towards  the  spot  where  Hu^h 
had  lain  asleep;  and  even  spoke  to  him  by 
name.  But  all  was  dark  and  quiet ;  and 
creeping  back  to  bed  again,  he  fell,  after  an 
hour's  uneasy  watching,  into  a  second  sleep, 
and  woke  no  more  till  morning. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


125 


CHAPTER  THE  TWENTY-NINTH. 


The   thoughts  of  worldly  men   are  for  [ 
ever  regulated  by  a  moral  law  of  gravita- 
^tiou,  which,  like  the   physical  one,  holds 
'them  down  to  earth.     The  bright  glory  of  j 
day,  and  the  silent  wonders  of  a  starlight  ; 
night,  appeal  to  their  uiinds  in  vain.    Tiiere  | 
are  no  signs  in  the  sun,  or  in  the  moon,  or  : 
in  the  stars  tor  their  reading.     They  are 
like  some  wise  men,  who,  learning  to  know 
each  planet  by  its  Latin  name,  have  quite 
forgotten   such   small   heavenly  constella- 
tions  as  Charity,  Forbearance,  Universal 
Love,  and  Mercy,  altliough  they  shine  by 
night   and  day  so  brightly  that  the  blind 
may  see  them;  and,  looking  upward  at  the 
spangled  sky,  see  nothmg  there  but  the  re- 
flection  of  their   own   great  wisdom   and 
book-learning. 

It  is  curious  to  imagine  these  people  of 
the  world,  busy  in  thought,  turning  their 
eyes  toward  the  countless  spheres  that 
shine  above  us,  and  making  them  reflect 
the  only  images  their  minds  contain.  The 
inan  who  lives  but  in  the  breath  of  princes 
has  nothing  in  his  sight  but  stars  for  cour- 
tiers' breasts.  The  envious  man  beholds 
his  neighbours'  honours  even  in  the  sky ; 
to  the  money-hoarder,  and  the  mass  of 
worldly  folk,  the  whole  great  universe 
above  glitters  with  sterling  coin  —  fresh 
from  the  mint  —  stamped  with  the  sove- 
reign's head  —  coming  always  between 
them  and  heaven,  turn  where  tht^y  may. 
So  do  the  shadows  of  our  own  desires  stand 
between  us  and  our  better  angels,  and  thus 
their  briirhtness  is  eclipsed. 

Everything  was  fresh  and  gay,  as  though 
the  world  were  but  that  moining  made, 
when  Mr.  Chester  rode  at  a  tranquil  pace 
along  the  forest  road.  Though  early  in 
the  season,  it  was  warm  and  genial  wea- 
ther; the  trees  were  budding  into  leaf,  the 
hedges  and  the  grass  were  green,  the  air 
was  musical  with  songs  of  birds,  and  liigli 
above  them  all  the  lark  poured  out  her 
richeir-t  melody.  In  shady  places  morning 
dew  sparkled  on  each  young  leaf  and  blade 
of  grass;  and  where  the  sun  was  shining, 
some  diamond  drops  yet  glistened  brightly, 
as  in  unwillingness  to  leave  so  fair  a  world, 
and  have  such  brief  existence.  Even  the 
light  wind,  whose  rustling  was  as  gentle 
to  the  ear  as  softly-falling  water,  had  its 
hope  and  promise,  and  leaving  a  pleasant 
fragrance  in  its  track  as  it  went  fluttering 
oy,  whispered  of  its  intercourse  with  sum- 
mer, and  of  his  happy  coming. 

The  solitary  rider  went  glancin?  on 
among  the  trees,  from  sunlight  into  shade 


and  back  again,  at  the  same  even  pace — 
looking  about  him,  certainly,  from  time  to 
time,  but  with  no  greater  thought  of  the 
day  or  the  scene  through  which  he  moved 
than  that  he  was  fortunate  (being  choicely 
dressed)  to  have  such  favourable  weather. 
He  smiled  very  complacently  at  such  times, 
but  rather  as  if  he  were  satisfied  with  him- 
self than  with  anything  else;  and  so  went 
riding  on,  upon  his  chesnut  cob,  as  pleasant 
to  look  upon  as  his  own  horse,  and  proba- 
bly far  less  sensitive  to  the  many  cheerful 
influences  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 

In  course  of  time  the  Maypole's  massive 
chimneys  rose  upon  his  view:  but  he 
quickened  not  his  pace  one  jot,  and  with 
the  same  cool  gravity  rode  up  to  the  tavern 
porch.  John  Willet,  who  was  toasting 
his  red  face  before  a  great  fire  in  the  bar, 
and  who,  with  surpassing  foresight  and 
quickness  of  apprehension,  had  been  think- 
ing, as  he  looked  at  the  blue  sky,  that  if 
that  state  of  things  lasted  much  longer,  it 
might  ultimately  become  necessary  to  leave 
oft'  fires  and  throw  the  windows  open,  issu- 
ed forth  to  hold  his  stirrup,  calling  lustily 
for  Hugh. 

"Oh,  you're  here,  are  you,  sirl"  said 
John,  rather  surprised  by  the  quickness 
with  which  he  appeared.  "  Take  this  here 
valuable  animal  into  the  stable,  and  have 
more  than  particular  care  of  him  if  you 
want  to  keep  your  place.  A  mortal  lazy 
fellow,  sir;  he  needs  a  deal  of  looking 
after." 

"  But  you  have  a  son,"  returned  Mr. 
Chester,  giving  his  bridle  to  Hugh  as  he 
dismounted,  and  acknowledging  his  salute 
by  a  careless  motion  of  his  hand  towards 
his  hat.  "  Why  don't  you  make  him  use- 
ful ?" 

"  Why,  the  truth  is,  sir,"  replied  John, 
with  great  importance,  "  that  my  son — 
what,  you're  a  listening,  are  you,  vil- 
lain !" 

"Who's  listening]"  returned  Hugh, 
anrrrily.  "  A  treat,  indeed,  to  hear  you 
spp:ik  !  Would  you  have  me  take  him  in 
'till  he's  cool  1" 

"Walk  him  up  and  down  further  off 
then,  sir,"  cried  old  John,  "and  when  you 
see  mc  and  a  noble  gentleman  entertaining 
ourselves  with  talk,  keep  your  distance. 
If  you  don't  know  your  distance,  sir,"  add- 
ed Mr.  Willet,  after  an  enormously  long 
pause,  during  which  he  fixed  his  great  dull 
eyes  on  Hugh,  and  waited  with  exemplary 
patience  for  any  little  property  in  the  way 
of  ideas  that   miffht   be   coming  to  him. 


126 


BARNABY'  RUDGE. 


"  we'll   find  a  way  to  teach  you,  pretty 
soon." 

llti<>-h  phriifTg-ed  his  shoulders  scornfully, 
and  in  liis  reckless  swaps^^ering  way,  cross- 
ed to  the  other  side  of"  the  little  jrreen, 
and  there,  with  the  bridle  slung  loosely 
over  his  shoulder,  led  the  horse  to  and  fro, 
glancnig  at  his  master  every  now  and  then, 
from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  as 
pinisteran  aspect  as  one  would  desire  to  see. 
Mr.  Chester,  who,  without  appearing  to 
do  so,  had  eyed  him  attentively  during 
this  brief  dispute,  stepped  into  the  porch, 
and  turning  abruptly  to  Mr.  Willett,  said — 
"  Vou  keep  strange  servants,  John." 
"  Strange  enough  to  look  at,  sir,  certain- 
ly," answered  the  host;  "  but  out  of  doors; 
for  horses,  dogs,  and  the  like  of  that;  there 
an't  a  better  man  in  England,  than  is  that 
Maypole  Hugh,  yonder.  He  an't  fit  for  in 
doors,"  added  Mr.  Willet,  with  the  con- 
fidential air  of  a  man  who  felt  his  own 
superior  nature,  "/do  that;  but  if  that 
chap  had  only  a  little  imagination,  sir — " 

"He's  an  active  fellow  now,  I  dare 
swear,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  m  a  nuising  tone, 
which  seemed  to  suggest  that  he  would 
have  said  the  same  had  there  been  nobody 
to  hear  him. 

"Active,  sir!"  retorted  John,  with  quite 
an  expression  in  his  face;  "that  chap! 
Hallo,  there  !  You,  sir!  Bring  that  horse 
here,  and  go  and  hang  my  wig  on  the  wea- 
thercock, 1.0  show  this  gentleman  whether 
you  're  one  of  the  lively  sort  or  not." 

Hugh  made  no  answer,  but  throwing  the 
bridle  to  his  master,  and  snatching  his  wig 
from  his  head,  in  a  manner  so  unceremoni- 
ous and  hasty  that  the  action  discomposed 
Mr.  WiUet  not  a  little,  though  performed 
at  his  own  special  desire,  clmibed  nimbly 
to  the  very  summit  of  the  maypole  before 
the  house,  and  hanging  the  wig  upon  the 
weathercock,  sent  it  twirling  round  like  a 
roasting  jack.     Having  achieved  this  per 


of  his  guest's  bill;  "he'll  get  out  of 
a'most  any  winder  in  the  house.  There 
never  was  such  a  chap  for  flinging  himself 
about  and  never  hurting  liis  bones,  it's 
my  opinion,  sir,  that  it's  pretty  nearly  all 
owing  to  his  not  having  any  imagination; 
and  that  if  imagination  could  be  (which  it 
can't)  knocked  into  him,  he'd  never  be 
able  to  do  it  any  more.  But  we  was  a 
talking,  sir,  about  my  son." 

"True,  Willet,  true,"  said  his  visiter, 
turning  again  towards  the  landlord  with 
his  accustomed  serenity  of  face.  "My 
good  friend,  what  about  himl" 

It  has  been  reported  that  Mr.  Willet, 
previous  to  making  answer,  winked.  As 
he  never  was  known  to  be  guilty  of  such 
lightness  of  conduct  either  before  or  after- 
wards, this  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  ma- 
licious invention  of  his  enemies — tiiunded, 
perhaps,  upon  the  undisputed  circumstance 
of  his  taking  his  guest  by  the  third  breast 
button  of  his  coat,  counting  downwards 
from  the  chin,  and  pouring  his  reply  into 
his  ear: — 

"Sir,"  whispered  John,  with  dignity, 
"I  know  my  duty.  We  want  no  love- 
making  here,  sir,  unbeknown  to  parents. 
I  respect  a  certain  young  geiuleinan", 
taking  him  in  the  light  of  a  young  gentle- 
man ;  I  respect  a  certain  young  lady, 
taking  her  in  the  light  of  a  young  lady ; 
but  of  the  two  as  a  couple,  I  have  no 
knowledge,  sir,  none  whatever.  My  son, 
sir,  is  upon  his  patrole." 

"I  thought  1  saw  him  looking  through 
the  corner  window  but  this  moment,"  said 
Mr.  Chester,  who  naturally  thought  that 
being  on  patrole,  implied  walking  about 
somewhere. 

"  No  doubt  you  did,  sir,"  returned  John. 
"  He  is  upon  his  patrole  of  honour,  sir,  not 
to  leave  the  premises.  Me  and  some  friends 
of  mine  that  use  the  Maypole  of  an  even- 
ing, sir,  considered  what  was  best  to  be 
formance  he  cast  it  on  the  ground,  and  I  done  with  him,  to  prevent  his  doing  any- 
sliding  down  the  pole  with  inconceivable'  thing  unpleasant  in  opposing  your  desires; 


rapidity,  alighted  on  his  feet  almost  as  soon 
as  it.  had  touched  the  earth. 

"There,  sir,"  said  John,  relapsing  into 
his  usual  stolid  state,  "you  won't  see  that 
at  many  houses,  besides  the  Maypole, 
where  there's  good  accommodation  for 
miiii  and  beast  —  nor  that  neither,  though 
that  v^illi  him  is  nothing." 

Til  is  last  remark  bore  reference  to  his 
vaulting  on  horseback,  as  upon  Mr.  Ches- 
ter's tirst  visit,  and  quickly  disappearing  by 
the  stable  gate 


and  we  've  put  him  on  his  patrole.  And 
what's  more,  sir,  he  won't  be  off  his  pa- 
trole for  a  pretty  long  time  to  come,  I  can 
tell  you  that." 

VVhen  he  had  communicated  this  bright 
idea,  which  had  had  its  origin  in  the  perusal 
by  the  village  cronies  of  a  newspaper,  con- 
taining, among  other  matters,  an  account 
of  how  some  officer  pending  the  sentence 
of  some  court-martial  had  been  eYilarged 
on  parole,  Mr.  Willet  drew  back  fiom  his 
!  g:uest's  ear,  and  without  any  visible  alten- 


"Tnat  with  him  is  nolhmg,"  repeated  tion  of  feature,  chuckled  thrice,  audibly. 
Mr.  Willet,  brushing  his  wig  with  his  |  This  nearest  approach  to  a  laugh  in  which 
ivri.st,  and  inwardly  resolving  to  distribute  he  ever  indulged,  (and  that  but  seldom  and 
u  sill, ill  charge  (or  dust  and  damage  to  that  only  on  extreme  occasions,)  never  even  curl- 
•rticle  of  dress,  through  tiie  various  items  ,  ed  his  lip,  or  effected  the  smallest  change  in, 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


127 


no,  not  so  much  as  a  slioht  wagging  of,  his 
great,  fat,  double  chin,  wliicii  at  these  times, 
as  at  all  others,  reiiiained  a  perfect  desert 
in  the  broad  map  of  his  face;  one  change- 
less, dull,  tremendous  blank. 

Lest  it  should  be  matter  of  surprise  to  any, 
that  iNIr.  VVillet  ado|)ted  this  bold  course  in 
opposition  to  one  whom  he  had  often  enter- 
tained, and  who  had  always  paid  his  way  at 
liie  Maypole  gallantly,  it  may  be  remarked, 
that  it  was  his  very  penetration  and  saga- 
city in  this  respect  which  occasioned  him 
10  indulge  in  those  unusual  demonstrations 
of  jocularity,  just  now  recorded.  For  Mr. 
VVillet,  after  carefully  balancing  father  and 
son  in  his  mental  scales,  had  arrived  at  the 
distinct  conclusion  that  the  old  gentleman 
was  a  better  sort  of  customer  than  the 
young  one.  Tiirowing  his  landlord  into 
the  same  scale,  which  was  already  turned 
by  this  consideration,  and  heaping  upon 
him,  again,  his  strong  desires  to  run  coun- 
ter to  the  unfortunate  Joe,  and  his  opposi- 
tion as  a  general  principle  to  all  matters 
jf  love  and  matrimony,  it  went  down  to 
the  very  ground  straightway,  and  sent  the 
light  cause  of  the  younger  gentleman  fly- 
ing upwards  to  the  ceiling.  Mr.  Chester 
vas   not  the  kind  of  man  to  be  by  any 


means  dim-sighted  to  Mr.  Willct's  mo- 
tives, but  he  thanked  him  as  graoiou.-ly  as 
if  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  dit^interest- 
ed  martyrs  that  ever  shone  on  eartii ;  and 
leaving  him,  with  many  complimentary  re- 
liances on  his  great  taste  and  judgment,  to 
prepare  whatever  dinner  he  niigiit  deem 
most  fitting  the  occasion,  bent  his  steps  to- 
wards the  Warren. 

Dressed  with  more  than  his  usual  ele- 
gance ;  assuming  a  gracefulness  of  man- 
ner, which,  though  it  was  the  result  of  long 
study,  sat  easily  upon  him  and  became  him 
well ;  composing  his  features  into  their 
most  serene  and  prepossessing  expression  ; 
and  setting  in  short  that  guard  upon  him- 
self, at  every  point,  which  denoted  that  he 
attached  no  slight  importance  to  tiie  im- 
pression he  was  about  to  make,  he  entered 
the  bounds  of  Miss  Haredale's  usual  walk. 
He  had  not  gone  far,  or  looked  about  him 
long,  when  he  descried  coming  towards 
him,  a  female  figure.  A  glimpse  of  the 
form  and  dress,  as  she  crossed  a  little 
wooden  bridge  which  lay  between  them, 
satisfied  him  that  he  had  found  her  whom 
he  desired  to  see.  He  threw  himself  in 
her  way,  and  a  very  few  paces  brought 
them  close  together. 


128 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


lie  raised  his  hat  from  his  head,  and, 
yieldiiiir  tlio  path,  suffered  her  to  pass  him. 
Then,  as  if  the  idea  had  but  that  moment 
occurred  to  him,  he  turned  hastily  back 
and  said  in  an  acrjiated  voice : 

"  I  beg  pardon — do  I  address  Miss  Hare- 
dale  ]" 

She  stopped  in  some  confusion  at  being- 
so  unexpectedly  accosted  by  a  stranger; 
and  answered,  "  Yes." 

"  Something  told  me,"  he  said,  Inokinir 
a  compliment  to  her  beauty,  "  that  it  could 
be  no  other.  Miss  Ilaredale,  I  bear  a  name 
which  is  not  unknown  to  you — which  it  is 
a  pride,  and  yet  a  pain  to  me  to  know, 
sounds  pleasantly  in  your  ears.  I  am  a 
man  advanced  in  life,  as  you  see.  I  am  the 
tather  of  him  whom  you  honour  and  dis- 
tin<ruish  above  all  other  men.  May  I,  for 
weighty  reasons  which  fill  me  with  dis- 
tress, beg  but  a  minute's  conversation  with 
you  here  V 

Who  that  was  inexperienced  in  deceit, 
and  had  a  frank  and  youthful  heart,  could 
doubt  the  speaker's  truth — could  doubt  it 
too,  when  the  voice  that  spoke,  was  like 
the  faint  echo  of  one  she  knew  so  well,  and 
KO  much  loved  to  hear]  She  inclined  her 
iiead,  and  stopping,  cast  her  eyes  upon  the 
ground. 

"A  little  more  apart  —  among  these 
trees.  It  is  an  old  man's  hand.  Miss  Hare- 
dale;  an  honest  one,  believe  me." 

She  put  her's  in  it,  as  he  said  these 
words,  and  suffered  him  to  lead  her  to  a 
neighbouring  seat. 

"  You  alarm  me,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  You  are  not  the  bearer  of  any  ill 
news,  I  hope  ]" 

"  Of  none  that  you  anticipate,"  he  an- 
swered, sitting  down  beside  her.  "  Ed- 
ward is  well — quite  well.  It  is  of  him  I 
wish  to  speak,  certainly;  but  I  have  no 
misfortune  to  communicate." 

She  bowed  her  head  again,  and  made  as 
though  she  would  have  begged  him  to  pro- 
ceed ;  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  sensible  that  I  speak  to  you  at  a 
disadvantage,  dear  Miss  Haredale.  Believe 
me,  that  I  am  not  so  forgetful  of  the  feel- 
ings of  my  younger  days,  as  not  to  know 
that  you  are  little  disposed  to  view  me  with 
favour.  You  have  heard  me  described  as 
cold-hearted,  calculating,  selfish — " 

"  I  have  never,  sir,"  she  interposed  with 
nn  altered  manner  and  a  firmer  voice  ;  "  I 
have  never  heard  you  spoken  of  in  harsh 
or  disrespectful  terms.  You  do  a  great 
wrong  to  Edward's  nature,  if  you  believe 
him  capable  of  any  mean  or  base  proceed- 
ing-" 

"  Pardon  me,  my  sweet  young  lady,  but 
your  uncle — " 


"  Nor  is  it  my  uncle's  nature,  either," 
she  replied,  with  a  heightened  colour  in 
her  cheek.  "  It  is  not  his  nature  to  stab  in 
the  dark,  nor  is  it  mine  to  love  such  deeds. 
Your  suspicions  are  quite  unfounded." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  would  have 
left  him,  but  he  detained  her  with  a  gentle 
hand,  and  besought  her  in  such  persuasive 
accents  to  hear  him  but  another  minute, 
that  she  was  easily  prevailed  upon  to  com- 
ply, and  so  sat  down  again. 

"And  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  looking 
upward,  and  apostrophising  the  air;  "  it  is 
this  frank,  ingenuous,  noble  nature,  Ned, 
that  you  can  wound  so  lightly.  Shame — 
shame  upon  you,  boy  !" 

She  turned  towards  him  quickly,  and 
with  a  scornful  look  and  flasiiing  eyes. 
There  were  tears  in  Mr.  Chester's,  but  he 
dashed  them  hurriedly  away,  as  though  un- 
willing that  his  weakness  should  be  known, 
and  regarded  her  with  mingled  admiration 
and  compassion. 

"  I  never  until  now,"  he  said,  "believed, 
that  the  frivolous  actions  of  a  young  man 
could  move  me  like  these  of  my  own  son. 
I  never  knew  till  now,  the  worth  of  a  wo- 
man's heart,  which  boys  so  lightly  win, 
and  lightly  fling  away.  Trust  me,  dear 
young  lady,  that  I  never  until  now  did 
know  your  worth;  and  though  an  abhor- 
rence of  deceit  and  falsehood  has  impelled 
me  to  seek  you  out,  and  would  have  done 
so  had  you  been  the  poorest  and  least  gifted 
of  your  sex,  I  should  have  lacked  the  forti- 
tude to  sustain  this  interview  could  I  have 
pictured  you  to  my  imagination  as  you 
really  are." 

Oh  !  if  Mrs.  Varden  could  have  seen  the 
virtuous  gentleman  as  he  said  these  words 
with  indignation  sparkling  from  his  eyes — 
if  she  could  have  heard  his  broken,  quaver- 
ing voice — if  she  could  have  beheld  him 
as  he  stood  bare-headed  in  the  sunlight, 
and  with  unwonted  energy  poured  forth 
his  eloquence  ! 

With  a  haughty  face,  but  pale  and  trem- 
bling too,  Enmia  regarded  him  in  silence. 
She  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  but  gazed 
upon  him  as  though  she  would  look  into 
his  heart. 

"I  throw  off,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "the 
restraint  which  natural  afl'ection  would  im- 
pose on  some  men,  and  reject  all  bonds  but 
those  of  truth  and  duty.  Miss  Haredale, 
you  are  deceived  ;  you  are  deceived  by 
your  unworthy  lover,  and  my  unworthy 
son." 

Still  she  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  still 
said  not  one  word. 

"  I  have  ever  opposed  his  professions  of 
love  for  you ;  you  will  do  me  the  justice, 
dear   Miss  Haredale,   to  remember  that 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


129 


Your  uncle  and  myself  were  enemies  in 
early  lite,  and  if  1  had  sought  retaliation, 
I  mif^ht  have  found  it  here.  But  as  we 
grow  older,  we  grow  wiser — better,  I  would 
fain  hope — and  from  the  first,  I  have  op- 
posed him  in  this  attempt.  I  foresaw  the 
end,  and  would  have  spared  you,  if  I 
could." 

"Speak  plainly,  sir,"  she  faltered, — 
"  You  deceive  me,  or  are  deceived  your- 
self—  I  do  not  believe  you  —  I  cannot  —  I 
will  not." 

"First,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  soothingly, 
— "for  there  may  be  in  your  mind  some  la- 
tent angry  feeling  to  which  I  would  not 
appeal,  pray  take  this  letter,  ll  reached 
my  hands  by  chance,  and  by  mistake,  and 
should  have  accounted  to  you  (as  I  am  told) 
for  my  son's  not  answering  some  other  note 
of  yours.  God  forbid,  MissHaredale,"  said 
the  good  gentleman,  with  great  emotion, 
"that  tiiere  should  be  in  your  gentle  breast 
one  causelpss  ground  of  quarrel  with  him. 
You  should  know,  and  you  will  see,  that 
he  was  in  no  fault  here." 

There  appeared  something  so  very  can- 
did, so  scrupulously  honourable — so  very 
truthful  and  just  in  this  course — something 
which  rendered  the  upright  person  who  re- 
sorted to  It  so  worthy  of  belief — that  Em- 
ma's heart,  for  the  first  time,  sunk  within 
ler.    She  turned  away,  and  bur.-t  into  tears. 

"I  would,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  leaning 
^over  her,  and  speaking  in  mild  and  quite 
venerable  accents;  "I  would,  dear  girl,  it 
were  my  task  to  banish,  not  increase,  those 
tokens  of  your  grief.  My  son,  my  erring 
son, — I  will  not  call  him  deliberately  crim- 
inal in  this, — for  men  so  young,  who  have 
been  inconstant  twice  or  thrice  before,  act 
without  reflection,  almost  without  a  know- 
ledge of  the  wrong  they  do — will  break  his 
plighted  faith  to  you;  has  bioken  it  even 
now, — shall  I  stop  here,  and  having  given 
you  this  warning,  leave  it  to  be  fultiiled  ; 
or  shall  I  go  on?" 

"  Vou  will  go  on,  sir,"  sde  answered  ; 
♦and  speak  more  plainly  yet,  in  justice 
both  to  him  and  me." 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  bend- 
ing over  hfr  more  aflfectionately  still; 
•'  whom  I  would  call  my  daughter,  but  the 
fates  forbid,  Edward  seeks  to  break  with 
you  upon  a  false  and  most  unwarrantable 
pretence.  I  have  it  on  his  own  showing; 
in  his  own  hand.  Forgive  me,  if  I  have 
had  a  watch  upon  his  conduct;  I  am  his 
father;  I  had  a  regard  for  your  peace  and 
his  honour,  and  no  better  resource  was  left 
me.  There  lies  on  his  desk  at  this  mo- 
ment, ready  for  forwarding  to  you,  a  letter, 
in  which  he  tells  you  that  our  poverty — 
our  poverty;  his  and  mine,  Miss  Haredale 


—  forbids  him  to  pursue  his  claim  upon 
your  hand;  in  which  he  offers,  voluntarily 
proposes  to  free  you  from  your  pledge,  and 
talks  magnanimously  (men  do  so,  very 
commonly,  in  such  cases)  of  being  in  time 
more  worthy  your  regard  —  and  so  forth. 
A  letter,  to  be  plain,  in  which  he  not  only 
jilts  you — pardon  the  word  ;  1  would  sum- 
mon to  your  aid  your  pride  and  dignity — 
not  only  jilts  you,  I  fear,  in  favour  of  the 
object  whose  sl'ighting  treatment  first  in- 
spired his  brief  passion  for  yourself,  and 
gave  it  birth  in  wounded  vanity,  but  aflecta 
to  make  a  merit  and  a  virtue  of  the  act." 

She  glanced  proudly  at  him  once  more, 
as  by  an  involuntary  impulse,  and  with  a 
swelling  breast  rejoined,  "  If  what  you  say 
be  true,  he  takes  much  needless  trouble, 
sir,  to  compass  his  design.  He  is  very 
tender  of  my  peace  of  mind.  I  quite  thank 
him." 

"  The  truth  of  what  I  tell  you,  dear 
young  lady,"  he  replied,  "you  will  test  by 
the  receipt  or  non-receipt  of  the  letter  of 
which  1  speak. — Haredale,  my  dear  fellow, 
I  am  delia-hted  to  see  you,  although  we 
meet  under  singular  circumstances,  and 
upon  a  melancholy  occasion.  I  hope  you 
are  very  well." 

At  these  words  the  young  lady  raised 
her  eyes,  which  were  filled  with  tears; 
and  seeing  that  her  uncle  indeed  stood  be- 
fore them,  and  being  quite  unequal  to  the 
trial  of  hearing  or  of  speaking  one  word 
more,  hurriedly  withdrew,  and  left  them. 
They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  and  at 
her  retreating  figure,  and  for  a  long  time 
neither  of  them  spok^, 

"What  does  this  mean?  Explain  it," 
said  Mr.  Haredale  at  length.  "  Why  are 
you  here,  and  why  with  her!" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  rejoined  the  other, 
resuming  his  accustomed  manner  with  in- 
finite readiness,  and  throwing  himself  upon 
the  bench  with  a  weary  air,  "you  told  me 
not  very  long  ajro,  at  that  delightful  old 
tavern  of  which  you  are  the  esteemed  pro- 
prietor (and  a  most  charming  establishment 
it  is  for  persons  of  rural  pursuits  and  in 
robust  health  who  are  not  liable  to  lake 
cold)  that  I  had  the  head  and  heart  of  an 
evil  spirit  in  all  matters  of  deception.  I 
I  thought  at  the  time ;  I  really  did  think  ; 
you  flattered  me.  But  now  I  begin  to 
wonder  at  your  discernment,  and  vanity 
apart,  do,  honestly  believe  you  spoke  the 
truth.  Did  you  ever  counterfeit  extreme 
ingenuousness  and  honest  indignation? 
My  dear  fellow,  you  have  no  conception,  if 
you  never  did,  how  faint  the  effort  makes 
one." 

Mr.  Haredale  surveyed  him  with  a  look 
of  cold  contempt.     "  You   may  evade   jtf» 


130 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


explanation  f^ir  a  time,"  he  said,  folding  his 
arms.     "1  rniisl  Iiiive  it,  I  can  wait." 

"  Not  at  all.  Not  at  all,  my  frood  fel- 
low. You  Khali  not  wait  a  moment,"  re- 
turned his  friend,  as  he  lazily  crossed  his 
lews.  "The  simplest  thing  in  the  world. 
It  lies  in  a  nutshell;  Ned  has  written  her 
a  letter  —  a  bnyiHli,  honest,  sentimental 
composition,  which  remains  as  yet  in  his 
desk,  because  he  hasn't  had  the  heart  to 
send  it.  I  Jiavc  taken  a  liberty,  for  which 
my  parental  affliction  and  anxiety  are  a 
sufficient  excuse,  and  possessed  myself  of 
the  contents.  I  liave  described  them  to 
your  niece  (a  most  enchanting  person, 
Haredale  ;  quite  an  angelic  creature)  with 
a  little  colouring  and  description  adapted 
to  our  purpose.  It's  done.  You  may  be 
quite  easy.  It's  all  over.  Deprived  of 
their  adherents  and  mediators,  and  her 
pride  and  jealousy  roused  to  the  utmost; 
with  nobody  to  undeceive  her,  and  you  to 
confirm  me;  you  will  find  that  their  inter- 
course will  close  with  her  answer.  If  she 
receives  Ned's  letter  by  to-morrow  noon, 
you  may  date  their  parting  from  to-morrow 
night.  No  thanks  I  beg;  you  owe  me 
none.  I  have  acted  for  myself,  and  if  I 
have  forwarded  our  compact  with  all  the 
ardour  even  you  could  have  desired,  I  have 
done  so,  selfishly,  indeed." 

"I  curse  the  compact,  as  you  call  it, 
with  my  whole  heart  and  soul,"  returned 
the  other  fiercely.  "  It  was  made  in  an 
evil  hour.  I  have  bound  myself  to  a  lie  ; 
I  have  leagued  myself  with  you ;  and 
though  I  did  so  with  a  righteous  motive, 
and  though  it  cost  npe  such  an  effijrt  as 
haply  few  men  know,  I  hate  and  despise 
myself  for  the  deed." 

"  You  are  very  warm,"  said  Mr.  Chester 
with  a  languid  smile. 

"I  am  warm.  I  am  maddened  hy  your 
coldness.  Death,  Chester,  if  your  blood 
ran  warmer  in  your  veins,  and  there  were 
no  restraints  upon  me,  such  as  those  that 
hold  and  drag  me  back — well;  it  is  done; 
you  tell  me  so,  and  on  such  a  point  I  may 
believe  you.     When  i  am  most  remorseful 


for  this  treachery,  I  will  thimc  of  you  ami 
your  marriage,  and  try  to  juslily  myself  in 
such  remembrances  for  liavmg  torn  asunder 
PIrnina  and  your  son,  at  any  cost.  Our 
bond  is  cancelled  now,  and  we  may  p^irl." 

Mr.  Chester  kissed  his  hand  gracefully  ; 
and  with  the  same  tranquil  face  he  had 
preserved  throughout  —  even  when  he  had 
seen  his  companion  so  tortured  and  trans- 
ported by  liis  passion  that  his  whole  frame 
was  shaken — lay  in  his  lounging  posture 
on  the  seat  and  watched  hini  as  be  walked 
away. 

"  My  scape-goHt  and  my  drudge  at 
school,"  he  said,  raising  his  head  to  loo:< 
after  him ;  "  my  friend  of  later  days,  who 
could  not  keep  his  mistress  when  he  had 
won  her,  and  threw  me  in  her  way  to  carry 
off  the  prize,  I  triumph  in  the  present  and 
the  past.  Bark  on,  ill-fiivoured,  ill-condi- 
tioned cur;  fortune  has  ever  been  with  me 
— 1  like  to  hear  you." 

The  spot  where  they  had  met  was  in  an 
avenue  of  trees.  Mr.  Haredale  not  pass- 
ing out  on  either  hand,  had  walked  straight 
on.  He  chanced  to  turn  his  head  when  at 
some  considerable  distance,  and  seeing  that 
his  late  companion  had  by  that  time  risen 
and  was  looking  after  him,  stood  still  as 
though  he  half  expected  him  to  follow,  and 
waited  for  his  coming  up. 

"  It  may  come  to  that  one  day,  but  not 
yet,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  as  he  waved  hia 
hand,  as  though  they  were  the  best  of  , 
friends,  and  turned  away.  "Not  yet, 
j  Haredale,"  he  muttered  to  himself  "  Life 
is  pleasant  enough  to  me;  dull  and  full  of 
heaviness  to  you.  No.  To  cross  swords 
with  such  a  man  —  to  indulge  his  humour 
unless  upon  extremity — would  be  weak, 
indeed." 

For  all  that,  he  drew  his  sword  as  he 
walked  along,  and  in  an  absent  humour 
ran  his  eye  from  hilt  to  point  full  twenty 
times.  But  thoughtfulness  begets  wrin 
kles;  remembering  this,  he  soon  put  it  up, 
smoothed  his  contracted  brow,  hummed  a 
gay  tune  with  greater  gaiety  of  manner, 
and  was  his  unrufHed  self  again. 


CIIAPTEI?  '^IIE  THIRTIETH. 


A  HOMELY  proverb  recognises  the  exis-  i  mankind  that  as  the  absence  of  pain  is 
tence  of  a  troublesome  class  of  persons,  I  pleasure,  so  the  enith,  purged  of  their  pre- 
who,  having  an  inch  conceded  them,  will  sence,  may  be  deemed  a  blessed  place — not 
take  an  ell.  Not  to  quote  the  illustrious  to  quote  such  mighty  instances,  it  will  be 
examples  of  those  heroic  scourges  of  man-  sufficient  to  refer  to  old  John  Willet. 
kind  whose  amiable  path  in  life  has  been.  Old  John  having  encroached  a  good 
from  birth  to  death,  through  blood,  and  fire,  standard  inch,  full  measure,  on  the  liberty 
and  ruin,  and  who  would  seem  to  have  of  .Fne,  and  having  sn  pped  off  a  Flemish  ell 
existed  for  no  belter  purpose  than  to  teach    in  the  matter  of  the  parole,  grew  so  despotic 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


13! 


and  so  grreat,  that  his  thirst  for  conquest 
knew  no  bounds.  The  more  younsr  Joe  sub- 
mitted, the  more  absohUe  old  John  became. 
The  ell  soon  faded  into  nothinif.  Yards, 
furlonifs,  miles,  arose;  and  on  went  old 
Joiin  m  the  pleasantest  manner  possible, 
trimming  otF  an  exuberance  in  this  place, 
shearino-  away  some  liberty  of  speech  or 
action  in  that,  and  conducting  himself  in 
his  small  way  with  as  much  hiorh  mighti- 
ness and  majesty,  as  the  most  glorious  ty- 
rant that  ever  had  his  statue  reared  in  pub- 
lic ways,  in  ancient  or  in  modern  times. 

As  great  men  are  urged  on  to  the  abuse 
of  power,  (when  they  need  urging,  which  is 
not  often)  by  their  flatterers  and  depend- 
ants, so  old  John  was  impelled  to  these  ex- 
ercises of  authority  by  the  applause  and 
admiration  of  iiis  Maypole  cronies,  who,  in 
the  intervals  of  their  nightly  pipes  and 
pots,  WjOiild  shake  their  heads  and  say  tiiat 
Mr.  VV  illet  was  a  father  of  the  good  old 
English  sort  —  that  there  were  no  new- 
fangled notions  or  modern  ways  in  him  — 
that  he  put  them  in  mind  of  what  their  fa- 
thers were  when  they  were  boys  —  that 
there  was  no  mistake  about  him — that  it 
would  be  well  for  the  country  if  there  were 
more  like  him,  and  more  was  the  pity  that 
there  were  not — with  many  other  original 
remarks  of  that  nature.  Then  they  would 
condescendingly  give  Joe  to  understand  that 
it  was  all  for  his  good,  and  he  would  be 
thankful  for  it  one  day;  and  in  particular, 
Mr.  Cobb  would  acquaint  him,  that  when 
Jie  was  his  age,  his  father  thought  no  more 
of  giving  him  a  parental  kick,  or  a  box  on 


the  ears,  or  a  cuff  on  the  head,  or  some  lit- 
tie  admonition  of  that  t^ort,  than  he  did  of 
any  other  ordinary  duty  of  lite;  and  he 
would  further  remark,  with  looks  of  great 
significance,  that  but  for  this  judicious 
bringing  up,  he  might  have  never  been  the 
man  he  was  at  that  present  speaking  — 
which  was  probable  enough,  as  he  was,  be- 
yond all  question,  the  dullest  dog  of  the 
party.  In  short,  between  old  John  and  old 
John's  friends,  there  never  was  an  unfortu- 
nate young  fellow  so  bullied,  badgered,  wor- 
ried, fretted,  so  constantly  beset,  or  made  so 
tired  of  his  life,  as  poor  Joe  Willet. 

Tiiis  had  come  to  be  the  recognised  and 
established  state  of  things;  but  as  John  was 
very  anxious  to  flourish  his  supremacy  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  Mr.  Chester,  he  did  that 
day  exceed  himself,  and  did  so  goad  and 
chafe  his  son  and  heir,  that  but  tor  Joe's 
having  made  a  solemn  vow  to  keep  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  when  they  were  not 
otherwise  engaged,  it  is  impossible  to  say 
what  he  might  have  done  with  them.  But 
the  longest  day  has  an  end,  and  at  length 
Mr.  Chester  came  down  stairs  to  mount  his 
horse,  which  was  ready  at  the  door. 

As  old  John  was  not  in  the  way  fit  the 
moment,  Joe,  who  was  sitting  in  the  bar  ru- 
minating on  his  dismal  fate  and  the  mani- 
fold perfections  of  Dolly  V^arden,  ran  out  to 
iiold  the  guest's  stirrup  and  assist  him  to 
mount.  Mr.  Chester  was  scarcely  in  the 
saddle,  and  Joe  was  in  the  very  act  of  mak- 
ing him  a  graceful  bow,  when  old  John 
came  diving  out  of  the  porch,  and  collared 
him. 


:'i 


1 32 


BAKNABY    RUDGE. 


"None  of  tliat,  sir,"  said  John,  "  none  of 
that,  sir.  No  breaiiin^  of  patroles.  I  low 
dare  you  come  out  of  the  door,  sir,  without 
leave!  You  're  trying  to  get  away,  sir,  are 
you,  and  to  mai<e  a  traitor  of  yourself  again? 
What  do  you  mean,  sir  1" 

"  Let  me  go,  father,"  said  Joe,  implor- 
ingly, as  he  marked  the  smile  upon  their 
visiter's  face,  and  observed  the  pleasure  his 
disgrace  atlorded  him.     "This  is  too  bad. 


Who  wants  to  jret  a\ 


■ay 


"  Who  wants  to  get  away  !"  cried  John, 
shaking  him.  "  Why  you  do,  sir,  you  do. 
^'ou're  tlie  boy,  sir."  added  John,  collaring 
with  one  hand,  and  aiding  the  effect  of  a 
farewell  bow  to  the  visiter  with  the  other, 
"that  wants  to  sneak  into  houses,  and  stir 
np  differences  between  noble  gentlemen 
hnd  their  sons,  are  you,  ehl  Hold  your 
tongue,  sir." 

Joe  made  no  eflt)rt  to  reply.  It  was  the 
crowning  circumstance  of  his  degradation. 
He  extricated  himself  from  his  father's 
grasp,  darted  an  angry  look  at  the  depart- 
ing guest,  and  returned  into  the  house. 

"  But  for  her,"  thought  Joe,  as  he  threw 
his  arms  upon  a  table  in  the  common  room, 
and  laid  his  head  upon  them,  "  hut  for  Dolly, 
who  I  couldn't  bfear  should  think  n)e  the 
rascal  they  would  make  me  out  to  be  if  I 
ran  away,  this  house  and  I  should  part  to- 
night." 

It  being  evening  by  this  time,  Solomon 
Daisy,  Tom  Cobb,  and  Long  Parkes,  were 
all  in  the  common  room  too,  and  had  from 
the  window  been  witnesses  of  what  liad  just 
occurred.  Mr.  Willet  joining  them  soon 
afterwards,  received  the  compliments  of  the 
company  with  great  composure,  and  light- 
ing his  pipe,  sat  down  among  them. 

"  We'll  see,  gentlemen,"  said  John,  after 
a  long  pause,  "  who's  the  master  of  this 
house,  and  who  isn't.  We'll  see  whether 
boys  are  to  govern  men,  or  men  are  to  go- 
vern boys." 

"  And  quite  right  too,"  assented  Solomon 
Daisy,  with  some  approving  nods;  "quite 
right,  Johnny.  Very  good,  Johnny,  Well 
said,  Mr.  Willet.     Brayvo,  sir." 

John  slowly  brought  his  eyes  to  bear  upon 
him,  looked  at  him  for  a  long  time,  and 
Hnally  made  answer,  to  the  great  cnnsterna- 
tion  of  all  his  hearers,  "  When  I  want  en- 
courafrement  from  you,  sir,  I  '11  ask  you  for 
it.  You  let  nne  alone,  sir.  I  can  get  on 
without  you,  I  hope.  Don't  you  tackle  me, 
sir,  if  you  please." 

•*  Don't  take  it  ill,  Johnny  ;  I  didn't  mean 
any  harm,"  pleaded  the  little  man. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  John,  more  than 
-siially  obstinate  after  his  late  success. 
'•  ;\ever  mind,  sir.  I  can  stand  pretty  firm 
oi'  myself,  sir,  without  being  shored  up  by 


you."  And  having  given  utterance  to  thia 
retort,  Mr.  Willet  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the 
boiler,  and  fell  into  a  kind  of  tobacco-trance. 

The  spirits  of  the  company  being  some- 
what damped  by  this  embarrassing  line  of 
conduct  on  the  part  of  their  host,  nothmg 
more  was  said  for  a  long  time;  but  at 
length  Mr.  Cobb  took  upon  himself  to  re- 
mark, as  he  rose  to  knock  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  that  lie  hoped  Joe  would  thence- 
forth learn  to  obey  his  father  in  all  things; 
that  he  had  found  that  day  he  was  not  one 
of  the  sort  of  men  who  were  to  be  trifled 
with  ;  and  that  he  would  recommend  him, 
poetically  speaking,  to  mind  his  eye  fur  the 
future. 

"I'd  recommend  you,  in  return,"  said 
Joe,  looking  up  with  a  flushed  face,  "  not 
to  talk  to  me." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Wil- 
let, suddenly  rousing  himself,  and  turning 
round. 

"  I  won't,  father,"  cried  Joe,  smiting  the 
table  with  his  fist,  so  that  the  jugs  and 
glasses  rung  again  ;  "  these  things  are  hard 
enough  to  bear  from  you ;  from  anybody 
else  I  never  will  endure  them  any  more. 
Therefore  I  say,  Mr.  Cobb,  don't  talk  t-j 
me." 

"  Why,  who  are  you,"  said  I\Ir.  Cobb, 
sneeringly,  "  that  you 're  not  to  be  talked 
to,  eh,  Joe  ?" 

To  which  Joe  returned  no  answer,  but 
with  a  very  ominous  shake  of  the  head,  re- 
sumed his  old  position,  which  he  would 
have  peacefully  preserved  until  the  house 
shut  up  at  night,  but  that  Mr.  Cobb,  stimu- 
lated by  the  wonder  of  the  company  at  the 
young  man's  presumption,  retorted  with 
sundry  taunts,  which  proved  too  much  for 
flesh  and  blood  to  bear.  Crowding  into  one 
moment  the  vexation  and  the  wrath  of 
years,  Joe  started  up,  overturned  the  table, 
fell  upon  his  lonsr  enemy,  pummelled  him 
with  all  his  might  and  main,  and  finished 
by  driving  him  with  surprising  swiftness 
against  a  heap  of  spittoons  in  one  corner ; 
plunging  into  which,  head  foremost,  with  ^ 
tremendous  crash,  he  lay  at  full  length 
among  the  ruins,  stimned  and  niotionlesfe, 
Then,  without  waiting  to  receive  the  con. 
pliments  of  the  bystanders  on  the  victory  he 
had  won,  he  retreated  to  his  own  bedcham- 
ber, and  considering  himself  in  a  state  of 
siege,  piled  all  the  portable  furniture 
against  the  door,  by  way  of  barricade. 

"  I  have  done  it  now,"  said  Joe,  as  he  sat 
down  upon  his  bedstead  and  wiped  hi- 
heated  face.  "  I  knew  it  would  come  at 
last.  The  Maypole  and  I  must  part  com- 
pany— I  'm  a  roving  vagabond — she  hatem 
me  for  evermore — It's  all  over  1" 


bAKNABY    RUDGE. 


133 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-FIRST. 


Fom>BRiNO  on  his  unhappy  lot,  Joe  sat 
and  listentnl  fur  a  lonsr  time,  pxpectinof 
every  moment  to  hoar  their  creakino'  foot- 
steps on  the  stairs,  or  to  be  greeted  by  his 
worthy  father  with  a  summons  to  capitulate 
unconditionally,  and  deliver  himself  up 
straightway.  But  neither  voice  nor  foot- 
step came;  and  thoufjh  some  distant 
echoes,  as  of  closing  doors  and  people 
liurryingf  in  and  out  of  rooms,  resonnding 
from  time  to  time  through  the  great  pas- 
sages, and  penetrating  to  his  remote  seclu- 
sion, gave  note  of  unusual  commotion  down 
stairs,  no  nearer  sound  disturbed  his  place 
of  retreat,  which  seemed  the  quieter  for 
these  far-off'  noises,  and  was  as  dull  and 
full  of  gloom  as  any  hermit's  cell. 

It  came  on  darker  and  darker.  The  old- 
fashioned  furniture  of  the  chamber,  which 
was  a  kind  of  hospital  for  all  the  invalided 
moveables  in  the  house,  grew  indistinct 
and  shadowy  in  its  many  shapes;  chairs 
and  tables,  which  by  day  were  as  hfrfiest 
cripples  as  need  be,  assumed  a  doubtful  and 
mysterious  character  ;  and  one  old  leprous 
screen  of  faded  India  leather  and  gold 
binding,  which  had  kept  out  many  a  cold 
breath  of  air  in  days  of  yore  and  shut  in 
many  a  jolly  face,  frowned  on  him  with  a 
spectral  aspect,  and  stood  at  full  height  in 
its  allotted  corner,  like  some  gaunt  ghost 
who  waited  to  be  questioned.  A  portrait 
opposite  the  window  —  a  queer,  old  blue- 
eyed  general,  in  an  oval  frame — seemed  to 
wink  and  doze  as  the  light  decayed,  and  at 
length,  when  the  last  faint  glimmering 
speck  of  day  went  out,  to  shut  its  eyes  in 
good  earnest,  and  fall  sound  asleep.  There 
was  such  a  hush  and  mystery  about  every- 
thing, that  Joe  could  not  help  followin?  its 
example;  and  so  went  off"  into  a  slumber 
likewise,  and  dreamed  of  Dolly,  till  the 
clock  of  Chigwell  church  struck  two. 

Still  nobody  came.  The  distant  noises 
in  the  house  had  ceased,  and  out  of  doors 
all  was  quiet  too;  save  for  the  occasional 
barking  of  some  deep-mouthed  dog,  and 
the  shaking  of  the  branches  by  the  night 
wind.  He  gazed  mournfully  out  of  the 
window  at  each  well-known  object  as  it  lay 
deeping  in  the  dim  light  of  the  moon  ;  and 
creeping  back  to  his  former  seat,  thought 
about  the  late  uproar,  until  it  seemed  to 
have  occurred  a  month  ago.  Thus,  be- 
tween dozing,  and  thinking,  and  walking 
to  the  window,  and  looking  out,  the  night 
wore  away ;  tlie  grim  old  screen,  and 
the  kmdred  chairs  and  tables,  began  slowly 
9 


to  reveal  themselves  in  their  accustc,mc«l 
forms;  the  blue-eyed  general  seemed  to 
wink  and  yawn  and  rouse  himself;  and  at 
last,  he  was  broad  awake  again,  and  very 
uncomfortable  and  cold  and  haggard  he 
looked,  in  the  dull  grey  light  of  mornino". 

The  sun  had  begun  to  peep  above  the 
forest  trees,  and  already  flung  across  the 
curling  mist  bright  bars  of  gold,  when  Joe 
dropped  from  his  window  on  the  ground 
below,  a  little  bundle  and  his  trusty  stick, 
and  prepared  to  descend  himself. 

It  was  not  a  very  dithcult  task;  for 
there  were  so  many  projections  and  gable 
ends  in  the  way,  that  they  formed  a  series 
of  clumsy  steps,  with  no  greater  obstacle 
than  a  jump  of  some  few  feet  at  last.  Joe, 
with  his  stick  and  bundle  on  his  shoulder, 
quickly  stood  on  the  firm  earth,  and  looked 
up  at  the  old  Maypole,  it  might  be  for  the 
last  time. 

He  didn't  apostrophise  it,  for  he  was  no 
great  scholar.  He  didn't  curse  it,  for  he 
had  little  ill-will  to  give  to  anything  on 
earth.  He  felt  more  affectionate  and  kind 
to  it  than  ever  he  had  done  in  all  his  life 
before,  so  said  with  all  his  heart,  "  God 
bless  you  !"  as  a  parting  wish,  and  turned 
away 

He  walked  along  at  a  brisk  pace,  big 
with  great  thoughts  of  going  for  a  soldier 
and  dying  in  some  foreign  country  where 
it  was  very  hot  and  sandy,  and  leaving  God 
knows  what  unheard  of  wealth  in  prize 
money  to  Dolly,  who  would  be  very  much 
affected  when  she  came  to  know  of  it ;  and 
full  of  such  youthful  visions,  which  were 
sometimes  sanguine  and  sometimes  melan- 
choly, but  always  had  her  for  their  main 
point  and  centre,  pushed  on  vigorously 
until  the  noise  of  London  sounded  in  his 
ears,  and  the  Black  Lion  hove  in  sight. 

It  was  only  eight  o'clock  then,  and  very 
much  astonished  the  Black  Lion  was,  to 
see  him  come  walking  in  with  dust  upon 
his  feet  at  that  early  hour,  with  no  grey 
mare  to  bear  him  company.  But  as  ho 
ordered  breakfast  to  be  got  ready  with  all 
speed,  and  on  its  being  set  before  him  gav« 
indisputable  tokens  of  a  hearty  appetite, 
the  Lion  received  him,  as  usual,  with  a 
hospitable  welcome;  and  treated  him  with 
those  marks  of  distinction,  which,  as  a 
regular  customer,  and  one  within  the  free- 
masonry of  the  trade,  he  had  a  right  to 
claim. 

This  Lion  or  landlord, — for  he  was  call- 
ed both   man  and  beast,  by  reason  of  hi« 


134 


BARNABY    RUDGF 


havinsr  instructed  the  artist  who  paintod 
his  sipn,  to  convey  into  the  features  of"  the 
lordly  brute  wliose  effigy  it  bore,  as  near  a 
counterpart  of  his  own  face  as  his  skill 
could  compass  and  devif^e, —  was  a  jrentlo- 
man  almost  as  quick  of  apprehension,  and 
of  almost  as  subtle  a  wit,  as  the  mighty 
John  himself.  But  the  difference  between 
them  lay  in  this;  that  whereas  Mr.  VVil- 
let's  extreme  sagacity  and  acuteness  were 
the  efforts  of  unassisted  nature,  the  Lion 
stood  indebted,  in  no  small  amount,  to 
beer;  of  which  he  swigged  such  copious 
draughts,  that  most  of  his  faculties  were 
utterly  drowned  and  washed  away,  except 
the  one  great  faculty  of  sleep,  which  he 
retained  in  surpnsmg  perfection.  The 
creaking  Lion  over  the  house  door  was, 
therefore,  to  say  the  truth,  rather  a  drowsy, 
tame,  and  feeble  lion;  and  as  these  social 
representatives  of  a  savage  class  are  usu- 
ally of  a  conventional  character  (beinir 
depicted,  for  the  most  part,  in  impossible 
attitudes  and  of  unearthly  colours),  he  was 
frequently  supposed  by  tlie  more  ignorant 
and  uninformed  among  the  neighbours,  to 
be  the  veritable  portrait  of  the  host  as  he 
appeared  on  the  occasion  of  some  great 
funeral  ceremony  or  public  mourning. 

"  What  noisy  fellow  is  that  in  the  next 
room!"  said  Joe,  w^hen  he  had  disposed  of 
his  breakfast,  and  had  washed  and  brushed 
himself. 

"  A  recruiting  serjeant,"  replied  the 
Lion. 

Joe  started  involuntarily.  Here  was 
the  very  thing  he  had  been  dreaming  of, 
all  the  way  along. 

"  And  I  wish,"  said  the  Lion,  "  he  was 
anywhere  else  but  here.  The  party  make 
noise  enough,  but  they  don't  call  for  much. 
There's  great  cry  tliere,  Mr.  VVillet,  but 
very  little  w^ool.  Your  father  wouldn't 
like  'em,  /  know." 

I'erhap?  not  much  under  any  circum- 
etances.  Perhaps  if  he  could  have  known 
what  waft  passing  at  that  moment  in  Joe's 
mind,  he  would  have  liked  them  still  less. 

"  is  he  recruiting  for  a — for  a  tine  regi- 
ment!"  said  Joe,  glancing  at  a  little  lound 
mirror  that  hung  in  the  bnr. 

"The  King's  Guards,  I  believe,"  replied 
the  host,  "it's  much  the  same  thing, 
whatever  regiment  he's  recruiting  for. 
{'m  told  there  an't  a  deal  of  difl'Ttnce 
between  a  tine  man  and  another  one,  when 
they  're  shot  throuirh  and  ihrongli." 

♦'They're  not  ail  shot,"  said  Joe. 

"No,"  the  Lion  answered,  "not  all. 
Those  that  are — supposing  it's  done  easy 
-are  the  best  oft'  in  my  opinion." 

"  Ah  !"  retorted  Joe,  "  but  you  don't  care 
to'  glr^-y." 


"  For  what  1"  said  the  Lion. 

"  Glory." 

"No,"  returned  the  Lion,  with  supreme 
indifference.  "I  don't.  You're  right  in 
that,  Mr.  VVillet.  When  Glory  comes 
here,  and  calls  for  anything  to  drinlf  nnd 
changes  a  guinea  to  pay  tor  it,  I'll  give  it 
him  for  nothing.  It's  my  belief,  sir,  that 
the  Glory's  arms  wouldn't  do  a  very  strong 
business." 

These  remarks  were  not  at  all  comfort- 
ing. Joe  walked  out,  stopped  at  the  door 
of  ihe  next  room,  and  listened.  The  Ser- 
jeant was  describing  a  military  life.  It 
was  all  drinking,  he  said,  except  that  there 
were  frequent  intervals  of  eating  and  love- 
making.  A  battle  was  the  finest  thing  in 
the  world  —  when  your  side  won  it  —  and 
Englishmen  always  did  that.  "  t>upposing 
you  should  be  killed,  sir,"  said  a  timid  voice 
in  one  corner.  "  Well,  sir,  supposing  you 
should  be,"  said  the  serjeant,  "what  theni 
Your  conntry  loves  you,  sir;  his  Majesty 
KiniT  George  the  Third  loves  you;  your 
memory  is  honoured,  revered,  re.-pected ; 
everybody  's  fond  of  you,  and  grateful  to 
you ;  your  name 's  wrote  down  at  full 
length  in  a  book  in  the  War-office.  Damme, 
gentlemen,  we  must  all  die,  some  time  or 
another,  eh  !" 

Tlie  voice  coughed,  and  said  no  more. 

Joe  walked  into  the  room.  A  group  of 
half-a-dozen  fellows  had  gathered  together 
in  the  tap-room,  and  were  listening  with 
greedy  ears.  One  of  them,  a  carter  in  a 
smock  frock,  seemed  wavering  and  disposed 
to  enlist.  The  rest,  who  were  by  no 
means  disposed,  strongly  urged  him  to  do 
so  (according  to  the  custom  of  mankind), 
backed  the  Serjeant's  arguments,  and  grin- 
ned among  themselves.  "I  say  notliing, 
boys,"  said  the  serjeant,  who  sat  a  little 
apart,  drinking  his  liquor.  "For  lads  of 
spirit" — here  he  cast  an  eye  on  Joe — "  this 
is  the  time.  1  don't  want  to  inveigle  you. 
The  king's  not  come  to  that,  I  hope. 
Brisk  young  blood  is  what  we  want;  not 
inilk  and  water.  We  won't  take  five  men 
out  of  six.  We  want  top-sawyers,  we  do. 
I'm  not  a-going  to  tell  tales  out  of  school, 
but,  damme,  if  every  gentleman's  son  that 
crirries  arms  in  our  corps,  through  being 
under  a  cloud  and  having  little  diflerencea 
with  his  relations,  was  counted  up" — here 
his  eye  fell  on  Joe  again,  and  so  good- 
naturedly,  that  Joe  beckoned  him  out.  He 
came  directly. 

"  You  're  a  gentleman,  by  G — !"  was  his 
first  remark,  as  he  slapped  him  on  the  back. 
"  You  're  a  gentleman  in  disguise.  So  am 
I.     Let's  swear  a  friendship." 

Joe  didn't  exactly  do  that,  but  he  "il'^ok 


Ill 


I'jhlJi- 


lllllll 


Mr, 

ill  f 


i'^' 


C  7MK^//.A 


-^tr?"- 


BARNAB\    RUDGE. 


135 


hands  with  him,  and  thanked  him  for  his 
good  opinion. 

"  You  want  to  serve,"  said  his  new 
friend.  "  You  shall.  You  were  made  for 
it  You  're  one  of  us  by  nature.  What  '11 
you  take  to  drink  !" 

"  Nothin;^  just  now,"  replied  Joe,  smilino; 
faintly.  "  I  haven'tquite  made  up  my  mind." 

"  A  mettlesome  fellow  like  you,  and  not 
made  up  his  mind !"  cried  the  serjeant. 
"Here  —  let  me  give  the  bell  a  pull,  and 

fou'U  make  up  your  mind  in  half  a  minute, 
know," 

"You're  right  so  far," — answered  Joe, 
"for  if  you  pull  the  bell  here,  where  I'm 
known,  there'll  be  an  end  of  my  soldiering 
inclinations  in  no  time.  Look  in  my  face. 
You  see  me,  do  you  ]" 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  serjeant  with  an 
oath,  "  and  a  finer  young  fellow  or  one  bet- 
ter qualified  to  serve  his  king  and  country, 
I  never  set  my — "  he  used  an  adjective  in 
this  place — "  eyes  on." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Joe,  "I  didn't  ask 
you  for  want  of  a  compliment,  but  thank 
you  all  the  same.  Do  I  look  like  a  sneak- 
ing fellow  or  a  liar?" 

The  serjeant  rejoined  with  many  choice 
asseverations  that  he  didn't;  and  that  if 
his  (the  Serjeant's)  own  father  were  to  say 
he  did,  he  would  run  the  old  gentleman 
through  the  body  cheerfully,  and  consider 
it  a  meritorious  action. 

Joe  expressed  his  obligations,  and  con- 
tinued "  You  can  trust  me  then,  and  credit 
vphat  I  say.  I  believe  I  shall  enlist  into 
your  regiment  to-night.  The  reason  I 
don't  do  so  now  is,  because  I  don't  want 
until  to-night,  to  do  what  I  can't  recal. 
Where  shall  I  find  you,  this  evening]" 

His  friend  replied  with  some  unwilling- 
ness, and  after  much  ineffectual  entreaty 
Having  for  its  object  the  immediate  settle- 
ment of  the  business,  that  his  quarters 
would  be  at  the  Crooked  Billet,  in  Tower- 
street;  where  he  would  be  found  waking 
until  midnisfht,  and  sleeping  until  break- 
fast timf!  tn-morrovv. 

"And  if  I  do  come — which  it's  a  million 
to  one.  I  shnil — when  will  you  take  me  out 
of  London  !"  demanded  Joe. 

"To-morrow  morning,  at  half  after  eight 
o'clock,"  replied  the  serjeant.  "  You'll  go 
abroad — a  country  where  it's  all  sunshine 
and  plunder  —  the  finest  climate  in  the 
world." 

"  To  go  abroad,"  said  Joe,  shaking  hands 
with  him,  "  is  the  very  thing  I  want.  You 
may  expect  me." 

"  You  're  the  kind  of  lad  for  us,"  cried 
the  serjeant,  holding  Joe's  hand  in  his,  in 
the  excess  of  his  admiration.  "You're 
the  boy  to  push  your  fortune.  I  don't  say 
it  because  I  bear  you  any  envy,  or  would 
take  t  way  from  the'  credit  of  the  rise  you  '11 


make,  but  if  I  had  been  bred  and  taught  like 
you,  1  'd  have  been  a  colonel  by  this  time." 

"  Tush,  man  !"  said  Joe,  "  I  'm  not  so 
young  as  that.  Needs  must  when  the 
devil  drives;  and  the  devil  that  drives  me 
is  an  empty  pocket  and  an  unhappy  home. 
For  the  present,  good-bye." 

"  For  king  and  country  !"  cried  the  ser- 
jeant, flourishing  his  cap. 

"  For  bread  and  meat !"  cried  Joe,  snap- 
ping his  fingers.     And  so  they  parted. 

Joe  had  very  little  money  in  his  pocket; 
so  little  indeed,  that  after  paying  for  his 
breakfast  (wliich  he  was  too  honest  and 
perhaps  too  proud  to  score  up  to  his  father's 
charge)  he  had  but  a  penny  left.  He  had 
courage,  notwithstanding,  to  resist  all  the 
affectionate  importunities  of  the  serjeant, 
who  waylaid  iiim  at  the  door  with  many 
protestations  of  eternal  friendship,  and  did 
in  particular  request  that  he  would  do  him 
the  favour  to  accept  of  only  one  shilling  as 
a  temporary  accommodation.  Rejecting 
his  offers  both  of  cash  and  credit,  Joe  walk- 
ed away  with  stick  and  bundle  as  before, 
bent  upon  getting  through  the  day  as  he 
best  could,  and  going  down  to  the  lock- 
smith's in  the  dusk  of  the  evening;  for  it 
should  go  hard,  he  had  resolved,  but  he 
would  have  a  parting  word  with  charming 
Dolly  Varden. 

He  went  out  by  Islington,  and  so  on  to 
Hio-hgate,  and  sat  on  many  stones  and 
gates,  but  there  were  no  voices  in  the  bells 
to  bid  him  turn.  Since  the  time  of  noble 
Whittington,  fair  flower  of  merchants,  bells 
have  come  to  have  less  sympathy  with 
humankind.  They  only  ring  for  money 
and  on  state  occasions.  Wanderers  have 
increased  in  number;  ships  leave  the 
Thames  for  distant  regions,  carrying  from 
stem  to  stern  no  other  cargo  ;  the  bells  are 
silent;  they  ring  out  no  entreaties  or  re- 
grets ;  they  are  used  to  it  and  have  grown 
worldly. 

Joe  bought  a  roil,  and  reduced  his  purse 
to  the  condition  (with  a  difference)  of  that 
celebrated  purse  of  Fortunatus,  which, 
whatever  were  that  favoured  mortal's 
necessities,  had  one  unvarying  amount  in 
it.  In  these  real  times,  when  all  the 
Fairies  are  dead  and  buried,  there  are  still 
a  great  many  purses  which  possess  that 
quality.  The  sum-total  they  contain  is 
expressed  in  arithmetic  by  a  circle',  and 
whether  it  be  added  to  or  multiplied  by  its 
own  amount,  the  result  of  the  problem  is 
more  easily  stated  than  any  known  m 
figures. 

Evening  drew  on  at  last.  With  the 
desolate  and  solitary  feeling  of  one  who 
had  no  home  or  shelter,  and  was  alone 
utterly  in  the  world  for  the  first  time,  he 
bent  his  steps  towards  the  locksmith's 
house.     He  had  delayed  till  noA'.  knowing 


13G 


BARNAIiY    RUDGE. 


that    Mrs.  Vanlfn    snmetimps    went    out 
•  alonp,  or  witli  Ali^jit!  (or  her  .sole  atlendunt,  | 
.o  lectures  in  tlie  ev>>nui<.>-;  aiul  devoutly 
hoping  that  this  might  be  one  of  her  niglits 
of  rnornl  culture.  [ 

lie  had  walked  up  and  down  before  the  I 
house,  on  the  opposite  side  of.the  way,  two 
or  three  times,  when  as  he  n-turned  to  it 
again,  he  caught  a  glunpse  of  a  fluttering 
skirt  at  the  do'ir.  It  was  Dolly's  —  to 
whom  else  could  it  belong  .'  no  dress  but 
hers  had  .^ucli  a  How  as  that.  He  plucked 
up  his  spirits,  and  followed  it  into  the  work- 
shop of  the  Golden  Key. 

His  darkening  the  door  caused  her  to 
look  round.  Oh,  that  face  !  "  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  that,"  thought  Joe,  "  I  should 
never  have  walked  into  poor  Tom  Cobb. 
She's  twenty  times  handsomer  than  ever. 
She  might  marry  a  Lord  !" 

He  didn't  say  this.  He  only  thought  it 
— perhaps  looked  it  also.  Dolly  was  glad 
to  see  him,  and  was  .so  sorry  her  father  and 
mother  were  away  from  home.  Joe  beg- 
ged she  wouldn't  mention  it  on  any  account. 

Dolly  hesitated  to  lead  the  way  into  the 
parlour,  for  there  it  was  nearly  dark ;  at 
the  same  time  she  hesitated  to  stand  talk- 
ing in  the  workshop,  which  was  yet  light 
and  open  to  the  street.  They  had  got  by 
Bome  means,  too,  before  the  little  forge ; 
and  Joe  having  hpr  hand  in  his  (which  he 


had  no  right  to  have,  for  DcHy  oi  ly  gave 
it  him  to  shake),  it  was  so  like  slaiuiing 
before  some  homely  altar  beuig  married, 
that  it  was  the  most  embarrassing  state  of 
things  in  the  world. 

"  1  have  come,"  said  Joe,  "  to  pay  good- 
bye— to  say  good-bye  for  I  don't  know  how 
many  years;  perhaps  for  ever.  I  am  go- 
insr  abroad." 

Now  this  waa  exactly  what  he  should 
not  have  said.  Here  he  was,  talking  like 
a  gentleman  at  large  who  was  free  to  come 
and  go  and  roam  about  the  world  at  his 
pleasure,  when  that  gallant  coachmaker 
iiad  vowed  but  the  night  before  that  INliss 
Varden  held  him  bound  in  adamantine 
chains;  and  had  positively  slated  in  so 
many  words  that  she  was  killmg  him  by 
inches,  and  that  in  a  fortnight  more  or 
thereabouts  he  expected  to  make  a  decent 
end  and  leave  the  business  to  his  mother. 

Dolly  released  her  hand  and  said  "In- 
deed !"  She  remarked  in  the  same  breath 
that  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  in  short,  betray- 
ed no  more  emotion  than  the  forge  itself. 

"  I  couldn't  go,"  said  Joe,  "  without  com- 
ing to  see  you.     I  hadn't  the  heart  to." 

Dolly  was  more  sorry  than  she  could 
tell,  that  he  should  have  taken  so  much 
trouble.  It  was  such  a  long  way,  and  he 
must  have  such  a  deal  to  do.  And  how  was 
Mr.  Willet — that  dear  old  gentleman. — 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


IfM 


♦•Is  this  all  you  say !"  cried  Joe. 

All!  Good  gracioua,  what  did  the  man 
expect!  Siie  was  obliged  to  take  her 
apron  in  her  hand  and  run  her  eyes  along 
tiie  hem  from  corner  to  corner,  to  keep 
herself  from  laugliing  in  his  face;  —  not 
because  his  gaze  contiised  her — not  at  all. 

Joe  had  small  e.xperienco  m  love  affairs, 
and  had  no  notion  how  dillerent  young 
ladies  are  at  different  times;  lie  had  ex- 
pected to  take  Doily  up  again  at  the  very 
point  where  he  had  left  her  after  that 
delicious  evening  ride,  and  was  no  more 
prepared  for  such  an  alteration  than  to  see 
the  sun  and  moon  change  places.  He  had 
buoyed  himself  up  all  day  with  an  indis- 
tinct idea  that  she  would  certainly  say 
"  Don't  go,"  or  "  Don't  leave  us,"  or  "  Why 
do  you  go,"  or  "  Why  do  you  leave  us,"  or 
would  give  him  some  little  encouragement 
of  that  sort ;  he  had  even  entertained  the 
possibility  of  her  bursting  into  tears,  of  her 
throwing  herself  into  his  arms,  of  her  fall- 
ing down  in  a  fainting  fit  without  previous 
\\^rd  or  sign ;  but  any  approach  to  such  a 
line  of  conduct  as  this,  had  been  so  far  from 
his  thoughts  that  he  could  only  look  at  her 
in  silent  wonder. 

Dolly  in  the  mean  while,  turned  to  the 
corners  of  her  apron,  and  measured  the 
sides,  and  smoothed  out  the  wrinkles,  and 
was  as  silent  as  he.  At  last  after  a  long 
pause,  Joe  said,  good-bye.  "Good-bye," — 
said  Dolly — with  as  pleasant  a  smile  as  if 
he  were  going  into  tlie  next  street,  and 
were  coming  back  to  supper;  "good-bye." 

"Come,"  said  Joe,  putting  out  both  his 
hands,  "  Dolly,  dear  Dolly,  don't  let  us  part 
like  this.  I  love  you  dearly,  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul ;  with  as  much  truth  and 
earnestness  as  ever  man  loved  woman  in 
this  world,  I  do  believe.  I  am  a  poor  fel- 
low, as  you  know  —  poorer  now  than  ever, 
for  1  have  fled  from  home,  not  being  able 
tc  bear  it  any  longer,  and  must  fight  my 
own  way  without  help.  You  are  beautiful, 
admired,  are  loved  by  everybody,  are  well 
off  and  happy ;  and  may  you  ever  be  so ! 
Heaven  forbid  I  should  ever  make  you 
otherwise;  but  give  me  a  word  of  comfort. 
Say  something  kind  to  me.  I  have  no 
right  to  expect  it  of  you,  I  know,  but  1  ask 
it  because  I  love  you,  and  shall  treasure 
the  slio-hteet  word  from  you  all  through  my 
life.  Dolly,  dearest,  have  you  nothing  to 
eay  to  me  ]" 

No.  Nothing.  Dolly  was  a  coquette 
by  nature,  and  a  spoilt  child.  She  had  no 
notion  of  being  carried  by  storm  in  this 
way.  The  coaehmaker  would  have  been 
dissolved  in  tears,  and  would  have  knelt 
down,  and  called  himself  names,  and  clasp- 
ed his  hands,  and  beat  his  breast,  and  tug- 
ged wildly  at  his  cravat,  and  done  all  kinds 
of  poetry.     Joe  had  no  business  to  be  goings 


abroad.  He  had  no  right  to  be  able  to  do  it. 
If  he  was  in  adamantine  chains,  he  couldn't. 

"I  have  said  good-bye,"  said  Dolly, 
"twice.  Take  vour  arm  away  directly, 
Mr.  Joseph,  or  1  '11  call  Miggs." 

"  I  '11  not  reproach  you,"  answered  Joe, 
"  it 's  my  fault,  no  doubt.  I  have  thought 
sometimes  that  you  didn't  quite  despise  me, 
but  I  was  a  fool  to  think  so.  Every  one 
must,  who  has  seen  the  life  I  have  led  — 
you  most  of  all.     God  bless  you  !" 

He  was  gone,  actually  gone,  Dolly 
waited  a  little  while,  thinking  he  would 
return,  peeped  out  at  the  door,  looked  up 
the  street  and  down  as  well  as  the  increas- 
ing darkness  would  allow,  came  in  again, 
waited  a  little  longer,  went  up  stairs  hum- 
ming a  tune,  bolted  herself  in,  laid  her 
head  down  on  her  bed,  and  cried  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  And  yet  such  natures 
are  made  up  of  so  many  contradictions,  that 
if  Joe  Willet  had  come  back  that  night, 
next  day,  next  week,  next  month,  the  odds 
are  a  hundred  to  one  she  would  have  treat- 
ed him  in  the  very  same  manner,  and  have 
wept  for  it  afterwards  with  the  very  sam-s 
distress. 

She  had  no  sooner  left  the  workshop 
than  there  cautiously  peered  out  from  be- 
hind the  chimney  of  the  forge,  a  face  which 
had  already  emerged  from  the  same  con- 
cealment twice  or  thrice,  unseen,  and 
which,  after  satisfying  itself  that  it  was 
now  alone,  was  followed  by  a  leg,  a 
shoulder,  and  so  on  by  degrees,  until  the 
form  of  Mr.  Tappertit  stood  confessed,  with 
a  brown-paper  cap  stuck  negligently  on  one 
side  of  its  head,  and  its  arms  very  much 
a-kimbo. 

"  Have  my  ears  deceived  me,"  said  the 
'Prentice,  "or  do  I  dream  !  am  I  to  thank 
thee,  Fortun',  or  to  cus  thee — which  V 

He  gravely  descended  from  his  eleva- 
tion, took  down  his  piece  of  looking-glass, 
planted  it  against  the  wall  upon  the  usual 
bench,  twisted  his  head  round,  and  looked 
closely  at  his  legs. 

"If  they're  a  dream,"  said  Sim,  "let 
sculptures  have  such  wisions,  and  chisel 
'em  out  when  they  wake.  This  is  reality. 
Sleep  has  no  such  limbs  as  them.  Trem- 
ble, Willet,  and  despair.  She's  mine! 
She's  mine!" 

With  these  triumphant  expressions,  he 
seized  a  hammer  and  dealt  a  heavy  blow 
at  a  vice,  which  in  his  mind's  eye  repre- 
sented the  sconce  or  head  of  Joseph  Willet. 
That  done,  he  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter 
which  startled  Miss  Miggs  even  in  her 
distant  kitchen,  and  dipping  his  head  into 
a  bowl  of  water,  had  recourse  to  a  jack- 
towel  inside  the  closet  door,  which  served 
the  double  purpose  of  smothering  his  feel- 
ings  and  drying  his  face. 

Joe,  disconsolate  and  down-hearted  but 


1«8 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


full  of  courage  too,  on  leavin?  the  lock- 
emith's  house  made  the  best  of  his  way  to 
the  Crooked  Billet,  and  there  inquired  for 
his  friend  the  serjeant,  who,  expecting  no 
man  less,  received  him  with  open  arms. 
In  the  course  of  five  minutes  after  his 
arrival  at  that  house  of  entertainment,  he 
was  enrolled  among  the  gallant  defenders 
of  his  native  land ;  and  within  half  an 
hour,  was  reoraled  with  a  steaming  supper 
of  boiled  tripe  and  onions,  prepared,  as  his 
friend  assured  him  more  than  once,  at  the 
express  command  of  his  most  Sacred  Ma- 
jesty the  King.  To  this  meal,  which  tasted 
very  savoury  after  his  long  fasting,  he  did 
ample  justice;  and  when  he  had  followed 
it  up,  or  down,  with  a  variety  of  loyal  and 
patriotic  toasts,  he  was  conducted  to  a 
straw  mattress  in  a  loft  over  the  stable, 
and  locked  in  there  for  the  ni^ht. 


I      The  next  morning,  he  found  that  the 

!  obliging  care  of  his  martial  fnend  had 
decorated  his  hat  with  sundry  parti-colour- 
ed streamers,  which  made  a  very  lively 
appearance;  and  in  company  with  that 
otBcer,  and  three  other  military  gentlemen 
newly  enrolled,  who  were  under  a  cloud 
so  dense  that  it  only  let\  three   shoes,  a 

:  boot,  and  a  coat  and  a  half,  visible  among 
them,  repaired  to  the  river  side.  Here 
they  were  joined  by  a  corporal  and  four 
more  heroes,  of  whom  two  were  drunk  and 
daring,  and  two  sober  and  penitent,  but 
each  of  whom,  like  Joe,  had  his  dusty  stick 
and  bundle.  The  party  embarked  in  a 
passage-boat  bound  for  Gravesend.  whence 
they  were  to  proceed  on  foot  to  Chatham  ; 
the  wind  was  in  their  favour,  and  they 
soon   lett   London    behind    them,   a    mere 

i  dark  mist:  a  giant  phantom  in  the  air. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-SECOND. 


MisFORTUXES.  saith  the  adage,  never 
come  sinsjly.  There  is  little  doubt  that 
troubles  are  exceedingly  gregarious  in 
their  nature,  and  flying  in  flocks,  are  apt 
to  perch  capriciously  ;  crowding  on  the 
heads  of  some  poor  wights  until  there  is 
not  an  inch  of  room  left  on  their  unlucky 
crowns,  and  taking  no  more  notice  of  others 
who  o3er  as  ^ood  resting  places  for  the 
eoles  of  their  feet,  than  if  they  had  no 
existence.  It  may  have  happened  that  a 
flight  of  troubles  brooding  over  London, 
and  looking  out  for  Jiveph  Willet,  whom 
they  couldn't  find,  darted  down  hap-hazard 
on  the  first  young  man  that  caught  their 
fancy,  and  settled  on  him  instead.  How- 
ever this  may  be,  certain  it  is  that  on  the 
very  dav  of  Joe's  departure  they  swarmed 
about  the  ears  of  Edward  Chester,  and  did 
so  buzz  and  flap  their  winjs,  and  persecute 
him,  that  he  was  most  profoundly  wretched. 

It  was  evening,  and  just  eight  o'clock, 
when  he  and  his  father,  havin?  wine  and 
dessert  set  before  them,  were  left  to  them- 
selves tor  the  first  time  that  day.  Th'^y 
had  dined  together,  but  a  third  person  had 
been  present  during  the  meal,  and  until 
they  met  at  table  they  had  not  seen  each 
other  since  the  previous  night. 

Edward  was  reserved,  and  silent.  Mr. 
Chester  was  more  than  usually  gay;  but 
not  carmo,  as  it  seemed,  to  open  a  conver- 
sation with  one  whose  humour  was  so  dif- 
ferent, he  vented  the  lightness  of  his  spirit 
m  smilfs  and  sparkling  looks,  and  made  no 
effort  to  awaken  his  attention.  So  they 
remained  for  some  time :  the  father  lying 
on  a  sofa  with  his  accustomed  air  of  c-race-  I 
till  nee'is-ence;  the  son  seated  opposite  to 
him  with  downcast  eyes,  busied,  it  was 
plain,  with  painful  and  uneasy  thoughts,      i 


"  My  dear  Edward,"  said  ^Ir.  Chester  at 
length,  with  a  most  engagin?  laugh,  "  do 
not  e.\tend  your  drowsy  influence  to  the 
decanter.  Suffer  that  to  circulate,  let  your 
spirits  be  never  so  stagnant." 

Edward  begged  his  pardon,  pa.ssed  it,  and 
relapsed  into  his  former  state. 

"  You  do  wrong  not  to  fill  ywir  trlass," 
said  Mr.  Chester,  holding  up  Ins  own  before 
the  light  '^  Wine  in  moderation  —  not  in 
excess,  for  that  makes  men  ugly  —  has  a 
thousand  pleasant  influences.  It  brightens 
the  eyes,  improves  the  voice,  imparts  a  new 
vivacity  to  one's  thoughts  and  conversa- 
tion :  you  sliould  try  it,  Ned." 

"  Ah,  father  I"  cried  his  son,  *'  if " 

"  My  good  fellow,"  interposed  the  parent 
hastily,  as  he  set  down  his  glass,  and  raised 
his  eyebrows  w  ith  a  startled  and  horrified 
expression,  "for  heaven's  sake  don't  call 
me  by  that  oteolete  and  ancient  name. 
Have  some  regard  for  delicacy.  Am  I 
irrey,  or  wrinkled,  do  I  go  on  crutches, 
have  I  lost  my  teeth,  that  you  adopt  such 
a  mode  of  address  ?  Goou  Gv<l,  how  very 
coarse  f 

"  I  was  about  to  speaL  to  you  from  my 
heart,  sir,"  returned  Edrtard,  "  in  the  con- 
fidence which  should  subsist  between  us; 
and  ynu  check  me  in  the  outset.'' 

•'  Now  do.  Ned,  do  not,"  said  .Mr.  Ches- 
ter, raisin?  his  delicate  hand  imploringly, 
'•thik  in  that  monstious  manner,  .^bout 
to  speak  from  your  heart  I  Don't  you  know 
that  the  heart  is  an  ingenious  part  of  our 
formation — the  centie  of  the  blood-vessels 
and  all  that  sort  of  thin?  —  winch  has  no 
more  to  do  with  what  you  say  or  think, 
than  your  knees  have  ?  How  can  you  be 
so  very  vulgar  and  absurd  ?  These  ana- 
louiicai  allusioQs  should  be  left  to  geut]e> 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


130 


men  of  the  medical  profession.  They  are 
really  not  agreeable  in  society.  You  quite 
surprise  me,  Ned." 

"  VVell !  there  are  no  such  things  to 
wo-na,  or  heal,  or  have  regard  for.  I 
know  your  creed,  sir,  and  will  say  no 
iDf^re,"  returned  his  son. 

■'There  again,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  sip- 
ping his  wine,  "  you  are  wrong.  I  distinct- 
ly say  there  are  such  things.  We  know 
there  are.  The  hearts  of  animals — of  bul- 
locks, sheep,  and  so  forth — are  cooked  and 
devoured,  as  I  am  told,  by  the  lower  classes, 
with  a  vast  deal  of  relish.  Men  are  some- 
times stabbed  to  the  heart,  shot  to  the 
heart;  birt  as  to  speaking-  from  the  heart, 
or  to  the  heart,  or  b°ing  warm-hearted,  or 
cold-hearted,  or  broken-hearted,  or  being 
all  heart,  or  having  no  heart  —  pah!  these 
thinsfs  are  nonsense,  Ned." 

"  No  doubt,  sir,"  returned  his  son,  seeinsr 
that  he  paused  for  him  to  speak.  "No  doubt." 

"There's  Haredale's  niece,  your  late 
flame,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  as  a  careless 
illu-^tration  of  his  meaning.  "No  doubt 
in  your  mind  she  was  all  heart  once.  Now 
she  has  none  at  all.  Yet  she  is  the  same 
person,  Ned,  exactly." 

She  is  a  changed  person,  sir,"  cried 
Edward,  reddening;  "  and  changed  by  vile 
means,  I  believe." 

"  Von  have  had  a  cool  dismissal,  have 
yo^i  !"  said  his  father.  "  Poor  Ned  !  I  told 
y<i:i  l.'i^t  ni<rht  what  would  happen — May  I 
ask  yuu  fur  the  nut-crackers  I" 


I  "  She  has  been  tampered  with,  and  most 
I  treacherously  deceived,"  cried  Edward, 
rising  from  his  seat.  "  I  never  will  believe 
I  that  the  knowledge  of  my  real  position, 
given  her  •  by  myself,  has  worked  thig 
change.  I  know  she  is  bpset  and  tortured. 
But  though  our  contract  is  at  an  end,  and 
broken  past  all  redemption;  though  I 
charfje  upon  her  want  of  firmness  and 
want  of  truth,  both  to  herself  and  me;  I 
do  not  now,  and  never  will  believe,  that 
any  sordid  motive,  or  her  own  unbiassed 
will,  has  led  her  to  this  course  — 
never !" 

"  You  make  me  blush,"  returned  his  fa- 
ther gaily,  "  for  the  folly  of  your  nature,  in 
which — but  we  never  know  ourselves — I 
devoutly  hope  there  is  no  reflection  of  my 
own.  With  regard  to  the  young  lady  her- 
Sf'lf,  she  has  done  what  is  very  natural  and 
proper,  my  dear  fellow;  what  you  yourself 
proposed,  as  I  learn  from  Mr.  Handale; 
and  what  I  predicted — with  no  great  exer 
cise  of  sagacity — she  would  do.  She  sup- 
posed you  to  be  rich,  or  at  least  quite  rich 
enough;  and  found  you  poor.  Marriage  ia 
a  civil  contract;  people  marry  to  better 
their  worldly  conHilion  and  improve  appear 
ances;  it  is  an  affair  of  house  and  furniture, 
of  liveries,  servants,  equipage,  and  so  forth 
The  lady  bein?  poor  and  you  poor  also, 
there  is  an  end  of  the  matter.  You  cannot 
enter  upon  these  considerations,  and  have 
no  manner  of  business  with  the  '?ercmony. 
I  driuk  her  health  in  this  glass,  and  respect 


140 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


and  honour  her  for  her  extreme  good  sense. 
It  is  a  lesson  to  you.     Fill  yours,  Ned." 

«'It  is  a  lesson,"  returned  his  son,  "by 
which  I  hope  I  may  never  profit,  and  if 
years  and  their  experience  impress  it  on — " 

"  Don't  say  on  the  heart,"  interposed  his 
father. 

"  On  men  whom  the  world  and  its  hy- 
pocrisy have  spoiled,"  said  Edward  warmly, 
"Heaven  keep  me  from  its  knowledge." 

"  Come,  sir,"  returned  his  father,  raising 
himself  a  little  on  the  sofa,  and  looking 
straight  towards  him  ;  "  we  have  had  enough 
of  this.  Remember,  if  you  please,  your  in- 
terest, your  duty,  your  moral  obligations, 
your  filial  afl^ections,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  which  it  is  so  very  delightful  and 
charming  to  reflect  upon ;  or  you  will  re- 
pent it." 

"  I  shall  never  repent  the  preservation 
of  my  self-respect,  sir,"  said  Edward. 
"  Forgive  me  if  1  say  that  I  will  not  sacri- 
fice it  at  your  bidding,  and  that  I  will  not 
pursue  the  track  which  you  would  have 
me  take,  and  to  which  the  secret  share 
you  have  had  in  this  late  separation, 
tends." 

His  father  rose  a  little  higher  still,  and 
looking  at  him  as  though  curious  to  know 
if  he  were  quite  resolved  and  earnest, 
dropped  gently  down  again,  and  said  in  the 
calmest  voice — eating  his  nuts  meanwhile, 

"Edward,  my  father  had  a  son,  who  be- 
ing a  fool  like  you,  and,  like  you,  enter- 
taining low  and  disobedient  sentiments,  he 
disinherited  and  cursed  one  mornmg  after 
breakfast.  The  circumstance  occurs  to 
me  with  a  singular  clearness  of  recollec- 
tion this  evening.  I  remember  eating 
muffins  at  the  time,  with  marmalade.  He 
led  a  miserable  life  (the  son,  I  mean)  and 
died  early  ;  it  was  a  happy  release  on  all 
accounts ;  he  degraded  the  family  very 
much.  It  is  a  sad  circumstance,  Edward, 
when  a  father  finds  it  necessary  to  resort 
to  such  strong  measures." 

"it  is,"  replied  Edward,  "and  it  is  sad 
when  a  son,  proffering  him  his  love  and 
duty  in  their  best  and  truest  sense,  finds 
himself  repelled  at  every  turn,  and  forced 
to  disobey.  Dear  father,"  he  added,  more 
earnestly  though  in  a  gentler  tone,  "  I  have 
leflected  many  times  on  what  occurred  be- 
tween us  when  we  first  discussed  this  sub- 
ject. Let  tnere  be  a  confidence  between 
us;  not  in  terms,  but  truth.  H"ear  what  I 
kave  to  say." 

"  As  I  anticipate  what  it  is,  and  cannot 
fail  to  do  so,  Edward,"  returned  his  father 
coldly,  "I  decline.  I  couldn't  possibly.  I 
am  sure  it  would  put  me  out  of  temper, 
which  is  a  state  of  mmd  I  can't  endure. 
It   you  intend  to  mar   my  plans  for  your 


establishment  in  life,  and  the  preservatior 
of  that  gentility  and  becoming  pride,  which 
our  family  have  so  long  sustained  —  if,  in 
short,  you  are  resolved  to  take  your  owr. 
course,  you  must  take  it,  and  my  curse 
with  it.  I  am  very  sorry,  but  there 's 
really  no  alternative." 

"  The  curse  may  pass  your  lips,"  said 
Edward,  "but  it  will  be  but  empty  breath. 
I  do  not  believe  that  any  man  on  earth  has 
greater  power  to  call  one  down  upon  his 
fellow — least  of  all,  upon  his  own  child — 
than  he  has  to  make  one  drop  of  rain  or 
flake  of  snow  fall  from  the  clouds  above  us 
at  his  impious  bidding.  Beware,  sir,  what 
you  do." 

"You  are  so  very  irreligious,  so  exceed- 
ingly undutiful,  so  horribly  profane,"  re- 
joined his  father,  turning  his  face  lazily 
towards  him,  and  cracking  another  nut, 
"that  I  positively  must  interrupt  you  here. 
It  is  quite  impossible  we  can  continue  to 
go  on,  upon  such  terms  as  these.  If  you 
will  do  me  the  favour  to  ring  the  bell,  the 
servant  will  show  you  to  the  door.  Return 
to  this  roof  no  more,  I  beg  you.  Go,  sir, 
since  yon  have  no  moral  sense  remaining ; 
and  go  to  the  Devil,  at  my  express  desire. 
Good  day." 

Edward  left  the  room  without  another 
word  or  look,  and  turned  his  back  upon  the 
house  for  ever. 

The  father's  face  was  slightly  flushed 
and  heated,  but  his  manner  was  quite  un- 
changed, as  he  rang  the  bell  again,  and 
addressed  his  servant  on  his  entrance. 

"  Peak — if  that  gentleman  who  has  jusl 
gone  out — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  Mr. Edward  1" 

"  Were  there  more  than  one,  dolt,  that 
you  ask  the  question? — If  that  gentlemars 
should  send  here  for  his  wardrobe,  let  him 
have  it,  do  you  hear  !  If  he  should  call 
himself  at  any  time,  I  'm  not  at  home. 
You  '11  tell  him  so.  and  shut  the  door." 

So,  it  soon  got  whispered  about,  that  Mr, 
Chester  was  very  unfortunate  in  his  son, 
who  had  occasioned  him  great  grief  and 
sorrow.  Ami  the  good  people  who  heard 
this  and  told  it  again,  marvelled  the  more 
at  his  equanimity  and  even  temper,  and 
said  what  an  amiable  nature  that  man  must 
have,  who,  having  undergone  so  much, 
Cduld  be  so  placid  and  so  calm.  And  when 
Edward's  name  was  spoken,  Society  shook 
its  head  and  laid  its  finger  on  its  lip,  and 
sighed,  and  looked  very  grave;  and  those 
who  had  sons  about  his  age,  waxed  wrath- 
ful and  indignant,  and  hoped,  for  Virtue's 
sake,  that  he  was  dead.  And  the  world 
went  on  turning  »ound,  as  usual,  for  five 
years,  con^crnmg  which  this  Narrative  is 
silent 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


141 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-THIRD. 


One  wintry  evening,  early  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and  eighty,  a  keen  north  wind  arose  as  it 
'grew  dark,  and  night  came  on  with  black 
and  dismal  looks.  A  bitter  storm  of  sleet, 
sharp,  dense,  and  icy-cold,  swept  the  wet 
streets,  and  rattled  on  the  trembling  win- 
dows. Sign-boards,  shaken  p  ist  endurance 
in  their  creaking  frames,  fell  crashing  on 
the  pavement;  old  tottering  chimneys  reel- 
ed and  staggered  in  the  blast;  and  many 
a  steeple  rocked  again  that  night,  as  though 
the  earth  were  troubled. 

It  was  not  a  time  for  those  who  could  by 
any  means  get  light  and  warmth,  to  brave 
the  fury  of  the  weather.  In  coffee-houses 
of  the  better  sort,  guests  crowded  round 
the  tire,  forgot  to  be  political,  and  told  each 
other  with  a  secret  gladness  that  the  blast 
grew  fiercer  every  minute.  Each  humble 
tavern  by  the  water-side,  had  its  group  of 
uncouth  figures  round  the  hearth;  who 
talked  of  vessels  foundering  at  sea,  and  all 
hands  lost,  related  many  a  dismal  tale  of 
shipwreck  and  drowned  men,  and  hoped 
that  some  they  know  were  safe,  and  shook 
their  heads  in  doubt.  In  private  dwelimgs, 
children  clustered  near  the  blaze;  listen- 
ing with  timid  pleasure  to  tales  of  ghosts 
and  goblins,  and  tall  figures  clad  in  white 
standing  by  bedsides,  and  people  who  had 
gone  to  sleep  in  old  cimrches  and  being 
overlooked  had  found  themselves  alone 
there  at  the  dead  hour  of  the  night:  until 
they  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  dark 
rooms  up-stairs,  yet  loved  to  hear  the  wind 
moan  too,  and  hoped  it  would  continue 
bravely.  From  time  to  time  these  happy 
in-door  people  stopped  to  listen,  or  one  held 
up  his  finger  and  cried  "  Hark  !"  and  then, 
above  the  rumbling  in  the  chimney,  and 
the  fast  pattering  on  the  glass,  was  heard 
a  wailing,  rushing  sound,  which  shook  the 
walls  as  though  a  giant's  hand  were  on 
them ;  then  a  hoarse  roar  as  if  the  sea  had 
risen  ;  then  such  a  whirl  and  tumult  that 
the  air  seemed  mad;  and  then,  with  a 
lengthened  howl,  the  waves  of  wind  swept 
on,  and  left  a  moment's  interval  of  rest. 

Cheerily,  though  there  were  none  abroad 
to  see  it,  shone  the  IMaypole  light  that 
evening.  Blessings  on  the  red  —  deep, 
ruby,  glowing  red — old  curtain  of  the  win- 
dow; blending  into  one  rich  stream  of 
br-.^htness,  fire  and  candle,  meat,  drink, 
and  company,  and  gleaming  like  a  jovial 
eye  upon  the  bleak  waste  out  of  doors! 
Within,  what  carpet  like  its  crunching 
sand,  what  music  merry  as  its  crackling 


logs,  what  perfume  like  its  kitchen's  dainty 
breath,  what  weather  genial  as  its  hearty 
warmth  !  Blessings  on  the  old  house,  how 
sturdily  it  stood  !  How  did  the  vexed  wind 
chafe  and  roar  about  its  stalwart  roof;  how 
did  it  pant  and  strive  with  its  wide  chim- 
neys, which  still  poured  forth  from  their 
hospitable  throats,  great  clouds  of  smoke, 
and  pufied  defiance  m  its  face;  how  above 
all,  did  it  drive  and  rattle  at  the  casement, 
emulous  to  extinguish  that  cheerful  glow, 
which  would  not  be  put  down  and  seemed 
the  brighter  for  the  conflict ! 

The  profusion  too,  the  rich  and  lavish 
bounty,  of  that  goodly  tavern!  It  was  not 
enouifh  that  one  fire  roared  and  sparkled 
on  its  spacious  hearth ;  in  the  tiles  which 
paved  and  compassed  it,  five  hundred  flick- 
ering fires  burnt  brightly  also.  It  was  not 
enough  that  one  red  curtain  shut  the  wild 
night  out,  and  shed  its  cheerful  influence 
on  the  room.  In  every  saucepan  lid,  and 
candlestick,  and  vessel  of  copper,  brass,  or 
tin  that  hung  upon  the  walls,  were  count- 
less ruddy  hangings,  flashing  and  gleaming 
with  every  motion  of  the  blaze,  and  ofier- 
ing,  let  the  eye  wander  where  it  might, 
interminable  vistas  of  the  same  rich  colour. 
The  old  oak  wainscoting,  the  beams,  the 
chairs,  the  seats,  reflected  it  in  a  deep, 
dull  glimmer.  There  were  fires  and  red 
curtains  in  the  very  eyes  of  the  drinkers, 
in  their  buttons,  in  their  liquor,  in  the  pipes 
they  smoked. 

Mr.  Willet  sat  in  what  had  been  his  ac- 
customed place  five  years  before,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  eternal  boiler;  and  had  sat 
there  since  the  clock  struck  eight,  giving 
no  other  signs  of  life  than  breathing  vvitia 
a  loud  and  constant  snore  (though  he  was 
wide  awake),  and  from  time  to  time  putting 
his  glass  to  liis  lips,  or  knocking  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe,  and  filling  it  anew.  It 
was  now  half- past  ten.  Mr.  Cobb  and  long 
Phil  Farkos  were  his  companions,  as  of  old, 
and  for  two  mortal  hours  and  a  half,  none 
of  the  company  had  pronounced  one  word. 

Whetiier  people,  by  dint  of  sitting  to- 
gether in  the  same  place  and  the  same 
relative  positions,  and  doing  exactly  the 
same  thinirs  for  a  great  many  years,  ac- 
quire a  sixth  sense,  or  some  unknown 
power  of  influencing  each  other  which 
serves  them  in  its  stead,  is  a  question  for 
philosophv  to  settle.  But  certain  it  is  that 
old  John  Willet,  Mr.  Parkes,  and  Air.  Cobb, 
were  one  and  all  firmly  of  opinion  that 
they  were  very  jolly  compmions — rather 
choice   spirits  than  otherwise;    that  they 


42 


BARNABY  RUDGE, 


looked  at  each  other  every  now  and  then 
as  if  there  were  a  perpetual  interchanfje 
of  ideas  o^oino-  on  amono-  them ;  that  no 
man  considered  himself  or  his  neijjhbour 
by  any  means  silent;  and  that  each  of 
them  nodded  occasionally  when  he  causrht 
the  eye  of  another,  as  if  he  would  say 
"You  have  expressed  yourself  extremely 
well,  sir,  in  relation  to  that  sentiment,  and 
I  quite  a^ree  with  you," 

The  room  was  so  very  warm,  the  tobacco 
so  very  g'ood,  and  the  tire  so  very  soothing, 
that  Mr.  VVillet  by  decrees  be^an  to  doze; 
but  as  he  had  perfectly  acquired,  by  dint 
of  longr  habit,  the  art  of  smoking  in  his 
sleep,  and  as  his  breathing  was  pretty 
much  the  same,  awake  or  asleep,  saving 
that  in  the  latter  case  he  sometimes  ex- 
perienced a  slight  difficulty  in  respiration 
(such  as  a  carpenter  meets  with  when  he 
is  planing  and  comes  to  a  knot),  neither  of 
his  companions  was  aware  of  the  circum- 
stance, until  he  met  with  one  of  these  im- 
pediments and  was  obliged  to  try  again. 

"  Johnny  's  dropped  off"  said  iMr.  Parkes 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Fa?t  as  a  top,"  said  Mr.  Cobb. 
Neither  of  them  said  any  more  until  Mr. 
Willet  came  to  another  knot — one  of  sur- 
passing obduracy — which  bade  fair  to  throw 
him  into  convulsions,  but  which  he  got 
over  at  last  without  waking,  by  an  effort 
quite  superhuman. 

"  He  sleeps  uncommon  hard,"  said  Mr. 
Cobb. 

Mr.  Parkes,  who  was  possibly  a  hard- 
sleeper  himself,  replied  with  some  disdain 
"Not  a  bit  on  it;"  and  directed  his  eyes 
towards  a  handbill  pasted  over  the  chim- 
ney-piece, which  was  decorated  at  the  top 
with  a  woodcut  representing  a  youth  of 
tender  years  running  away  very  fast,  with 
a  bundle  over  his  shoulder  at  the  end  of  a 
stick,  and — to  carry  out  the  idea — a  finger- 
post and  a  mile-stone  beside  him.  Mr. 
Cnbb  likewise  turned  his  eyes  in  the  same 
direction,  and  surveyed  the  placard  as  if 
that  were  the  first  time  he  had  ever  beheld 
it.  Now,  this  was  a  document  which  Mr. 
Willet  had  himself  indited  on  the  disap- 
pearance of  his  son  Joseph,  acquainting  the 
nobility  and  gentry  and  the  public  in  gen- 
eral with  the  circumstances  of  his  having 
left  his  home;  describing  his  dress  and  ap- 
pearance; and  offering  a  reward  of  five 
pounds  to  any  person  or  persons  who  would 
pack  him  up  and  return  him  safely  to  the 
Maypole  at  Chigwell,  or  lodge  him  in  any 
of  his  Majesty's  jails  untd  such  time  as  his 
lather  should  come  and  claim  him.  In  this 
advertisement  Mr.  Willet  had  obstinately 
persisted,  despite  the  advice  and  entreaties 
of  his  friends,  in  describing  his  son  as  a 
"young  boy;"  and  furlht.'rmore  as  being 
from  eighteen  inches  to  a  couple  of  feet 


shorter  than  he  really  was :  two  circum- 
stances which  pel  haps  accounted  in  some 
degree,  for  its  never  having  beei^produc- 
tive  of  any  other  effect  than  the  transmis- 
sion to  Chigwell  at  various  times  and  at  a 
vast  expense,  of  some  five-and- forty  run- 
aways varying  from  six  years  old  to  twelve. 
Mr.  Cobb  and  Mr.  Parkes  looked  mys- 
teriously  at  this  composition,  at  each  other, 
and  at  old  John.  From  the  time  he  had 
pasted  it  up  with  his  own  hands,  Mr.  Wil- 
let had  never  by  word  or  sign  alluded  to 
the  subject,  or  encouraged  any  one  else  to 
do  so.  Nobody  had  the  least  notion  what; 
his  thoughts  or  opinions  were,  connected 
with  it;  whether  he  remembered  it  or  for- 
got it;  whether  he  had  any  idea  that  such 
an  event  had  ever  taken  place.  There- 
fore, even  while  he  slept,  no  one  ventured 
to  refer  to  it  in  his  presence;  and  tor  such 
sufficient  reasons,  these  his  chosen  friends 
were  silent  now. 

Mr.  Willet  had  got  by  this  time  into  such 
a  complication  of  knots,  that  it  was  per- 
fectly clear  he  must  wake  or  die.  He 
chose  the  former  alternative,  and  opened 
his  eyes. 

"If  he  don't  come  in  five  minutes,"  said 
John,  "•  I  shall  have  supper  without  him." 

The  antecedent  of  this  pronoun  had  been 
mentioned  for  the  last  time  at  eight  o'clock. 
Messrs.  Parkes  and  Cobb  being  used  to  this 
style  of  conversation,  replied  without  dif- 
ficulty that  to  be  sure  Solomon  was  very 
late,  and  they  wondered  what  had  happen- 
ed to  detain  him. 

"  He  an't  blown  away,  I  suppose,"  said 
Parkes.  "  It 's  enough  to  carry  a  man  of 
his  figure,  off"  his  legs,  and  easy  too.  Do 
you  hear  it  J  It  blows  great  guns,  indeed. 
There  '11  be  many  a  crash  in  the  Forest  to- 
night, I  reckon,  and  many  a  broken  branch 
upon  the  ground  to-morrow." 

"  It  won't  break  anything  in  the  May- 
pole, I  take  it,  sir,"  returned  old  John. 
"  Let  it  try.     I  give  it  leave — what 's  that  ]" 

"  The  wind,"  cried  Parkes.  "  It 's  howl- 
ing like  a  Christian,  and  has  been  all  night 
long." 

"  Did  you  ever,  sir,"  asked  John,  after  a 
minute's  contemplation,  "hear  the  wind 
say  '  Maypole  !'  " 

"  Why,  what  man  ever  did  V  said  Parkes. 

"Nor  '  ahoy'  perhaps  ?"  added  John. 

"No.     Nor  that  neither." 

"Very  good,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  per- 
fectly unmoved;  "then  if  that  was  the 
wind  just  now,  and  you'll  wait  a  little 
time  without  speaking,  you  '11  hear  it  say 
both  words  very  plain." 

Mr.  Willet  was  right.  After  listening 
for  a  few  moments,  they  could  clearly  hear, 
aliove  the  roar  and  tumult  out  of  doors, 
this  shout  repeated;  and  that  with  a  shrill- 
ness and  energy,  which  denoted   that  it 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


143 


eamc  from  some  person  in  trrent  distress  or 
terror.  They  looked  at  eacli  other,  turned 
pale,  and  held  their  breath.  No  man  stir- 
red. 

It  was  in  this  emergency,  that  Mr.  Wil- 
let  displayed  sometiiini,'  of  that  strength  of 
mind  and  plenitude  of  mental  resource, 
which  rendered  him  the  admiration  of  all 
his  friends  and  neighbours.  Atlor  looking 
at  Messrs.  Parkes  and  Cobb  for  some  time 
in  silence,  he  clapped  his  two  hands  to  his 
cheeks,  and  sent  forth  a  roar  which  made 
the  glasses  dance  and  rafters  ring — a  long- 
sustained,  discordant  bellow,  that  rolled 
onward  with  the  wind,  and  startling  every 
echo,  made  the  night  a  hundred  times  more 
hoisterous — a  deep,  loud,  dismal  bray,  that 
•wunded  like  a  human  gong.     Then,  with 


every  vein  in  his  head  and  face  swoln  with 
the  great  exertion,  and  liis  countenance 
suffused  with  a  lively  purple,  he  drew  a 

I  little  nearer  to  the  tire,  and  turning  hia 

I  back  upon  it,  said  with  dignity: 

1      "  If   that 's    any    comfort    to    anybody, 

!  they 're  welcome  to  it.  If  it  an't,  I'm 
sorry  for  'em.  If  either  of  you  two  gen- 
tlemen likes  to  go  out  and  see  what's  the 
matter,  you  can.     I'm   not   curious,    my- 

j  self" 

While  he  spoke  the  cry  drew  nearer  and 

!  nearer,  footsteps   passed    the  window,  the 

I  latch  of  the  door  wus  raised,  it  opened, 
was  violently  shut  again,  and  Solomon 
Daisy,  with  a  lighted  lantern  in  his  hand, 
and  the  rain  streaming  from  his  disordered 
dress,  dashed  into  the  room. 


i 


A  more  complete  picture  of  terror  than 
rhe  little  man  presented,  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  imagine.  The  perspiration  stood 
in  beads  upon  his  face,  his  knees  knocked 
too-etlier,  his  every  limb  trembled,  the 
power  of  articulation  was  quite  gone;  and 
there  he  stood,  pantiig  for  breath,  gazing 
on  them  with  such  livid  ashy  looks,  that 
they  were  infected  with  his  fear,  tiioiin-h 
ignorant  of  its  occasion,  and,  reffectitig  his 
dismayed  and  horror-stricken  visage,  stared 
back  again  without  venturing  to  question 
him;  until  old  J(jhn  VVillet,  in  a  tit  of  tem- 
porary insanity,  ma'^e  a  dive  at  his  cravat, 
and,   seizing  him  Wy  that  portion  of  his 


dress,  shook  him  to  and  fro  until  his  verv 
teeth  appeared  to  rattle  in  his  head. 

"Tell  us  what's  the  matter,  sir,"  saitl 
John,  "or  I'll  kill  you.  Tell  us  what's 
the  matter,  sir,  or  in  another  second,  I  '11 
have  your  head  under  the  biler.  How  dare 
you  look  like  that]  Is  nnyboiiy  a  fijllow- 
ing  of  you  ]  What  do  you  mean  ]  Say 
.'-omething,  or  I  'II  be  the  death  ol'  you,  1 
will." 

Mr.  Willet,  in  his  frenzy,  was  so  near 
keeping  his  word  to  the  very  letter  (Solo- 
mon Daisy's  eyes  already  beginninnf  to  roll 
in  an  alarming  manner,  and  certain  ffut 
tural  sounds,  as  of  a  choking  man,  to  iasue 


144 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


from  his  tliroat),  that  the  two  bystanders, 
recovering  in  some  degree,  plucked  him 
off  his  victim  by  main  force,  and  placed  the 
little  clerk  of  Chigvvell  in  a  chair.  Direct- 
ing a  fearful  gaze  all  round  the  room,  he 
impIor,'d  them  in  a  faint  voice  to  give  him 
some  drink;  and  above  all  to  lock  the 
house-door  and  close  and  bar  the  shutters 
of  the  room,  without  a  moment's  loss  of 
time.  The  latter  request  did  not  tend  to 
re-assure  his  hearers,  or  to  fill  tiiem  with 
the  most  comfortable  sensations;  they  com- 
plied with  it,  however,  with  the  greatest 
expedition;  and  having  handed  him  a  bum- 
per of  brandy-and-water,  nearly  boiling 
hot,  waited  to  hear  what  he  might  have  to 
tell  them. 

"  Oh,  Johnny,"  said  Solomon,  shaking 
him  by  the  hand.  "  Oh,  Parkes.  Oh, 
Tommy  Cobb.  Why  did  I  leave  this  house 
to-night!  On  the  nineteenth  of  March — 
of  all  nights  in  the  year,  on  the  nineteenth 
of  March !" 

They  all  drew  closer  to  the  fire.  Parkes, 
who  was  rtearest  to  the  door,  started  and 
looked  over  his  shoulder.  Mr.  Willet,  with 
great  indignation,  inquired  what  the  devil 
he  meant  by  that  —  and  then  said,  "God 
forgive  me,"  and  glanced  over  his  own 
shoulder,  and  came  a  little  nearer. 

"  When  I  left  here  to-night,"  said  Solo- 
mon Daisy,  "I  little  thought  what  day  of 
the  month  it  was.  I  have  never  gone  alone 
into  the  church  after  dark  on  this  day,  for 
seven-and-tvventy  years.  I  have  heard  it 
said  that  as  we  keep  our  birthdays  when 
we  are  alive,  so  the  ghosts  of  dead  people, 
who  are  not  easy  in  their  graves,  keep  the 
day  they  died  upon. — How  tlie  wind  roars  !" 
Nobody  spoke.  All  eyes  were  fastened 
on  Solomon. 

"  I  might  have  known,"  he  said,  "  what 
night  it  was,  by  the  foul  weather.  There 's 
no  such  night  in  the  whole  year  round  as 
this  is,  always.  I  never  sleep  quietly  in 
my  bed  on  the  nineteenth  of  March." 

♦'  Go  on,"  said  Tom  Cobb,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Nor  I  neither." 

Solomon  Daisy  raised  his  glass  to  his 
lips;  put  it  down  upon  the  floor  with  such 
a  trembling  hand  that  the  spoon  tinkled  in 
it  like  a  little  bell;  and  continued  thus: 

"Have  I  ever  said  that  we  are  always 
Drought  back  to  this  subject  in  some  strano-e 
way,  when  the  nineteenth  of  this  month 
comes  round  ]  Do  you  suppose  it  was  by 
accident,  I  forgot  to  wind  up  the  church- 
clock  ?  I  never  forget  it  at  any  oth<>r  time, 
though  it's  such  a  clumsy  thing  that  it  has 
to  be  wound  up  every  day.  Why  should 
it  escape  my  memory  on  this  day  of  all 
others  1 

"  I  made  as  much  haste  down  there  as  I 
coi  Id  when  I  went  from  here,  but  I  had  to 
go  -iome  first  for  the  kevs;  and  the  wind 


and  rain  being  dead  against  me  all  the  waj, 
it  was  pretiy  well  as  much  as  I  could  do  at 
times  to  keep  my  legs.  I  got  there  at  last, 
opened  the  church-door,  and  went  in.  I 
had  not  met  a  soul  all  the  way,  and  you 
may  judge  whether  it  was  dull  or  not. 
Neither  of  you  would  bear  me  company. 
If  you  could  have  known  what  was  to  come, 
you  'd  have  been  in  the  right. 

"  The  wind  was  so  strong,  that  it  was  as 
much  as  I  could  do  to  shut  the  church-door 
by  putting  my  whole  weight  against  it ; 
and  even  as  it  was,  it  burst  wide  open 
twice,  with  such  strength  that  any  of  you 
would  have  sworn,  if  you  had  been  leaning 
against  it,  as  I  was,  that  somebody  was 
pushing  on  the  other  side.  However,  I  got 
the  key  turned,  went  into  the  belfry,  and 
wound  up  the  clock — which  was  very  near 
run  down,  and  would  have  stood  stock-still 
in  half  an  hour. 

"  As  I  took  up  my  lantern  again  to  leave 
the  church,  it  came  upon  me  all  at  once 
that  this  was  the  nineteenth  of  March.  It 
came  upon  me  with  a  kind  of  shock,  as  if 
a  hand  had  struck  the  thought  upon  my 
forehead ;  at  the  very  same  moment,  I 
heard  a  voice  outside  the  tower  —  rising 
from  among  the  graves." 

Here  old  John  precipitately  interrupted 
the  speaker,  and  begged  that  if  Mr.  Parkes 
(who  was  seated  opposite  to  him  and  was 
staring  directly  over  his  head)  saw  any- 
thing, he  would  have  the  goodness  to  men- 
tion it.  Mr.  Parkes  apologised,  and  re- 
marked that  he  was  only  listening;  to 
which  Mr.  Willet  angrily  retorted,  that  his 
listening  with  that  kind  of  expression  in 
his  face  was  not  agreeable,  and  that  if  he 
couldn't  look  like  other  people,  he  had  bet- 
ter put  his  pocket-handkerchief  over  his 
head.  Mr.  Parkes  with  great  submission 
pledged  himself  to  do  so,  if  again  required, 
and  John  Willet  turning  to  Solomon  de- 
sired him  to  proceed.  After  waiting  until 
a  violenJ;  gust  of  wind  and  rain,  which 
seemed  to  shake  even  that  sturdy  house  to 
its  foundation,  had  passed  away,  the  little 
man  complied : 

"  Never  tell  me  that  it  was  my  fancy,  or 
that  it  was  any  other  sound  which  I  mis- 
took for  that  I  tell  you  of  I  heard  the 
wind  whistle  through  the  arches  of  the 
church.  I  heard  the  steeple  strain  and 
creak.  I  heard  the  rain  as  it  came  driving 
against  the  walls.  I  felt  the  bells  shake. 
I  saw  the  ropes  sway  to  and  fro.  And  I 
heard  that  voice." 

"  What  did  it  say  V  asked  Tom  Cobb. 

"I  don't  know  what;  I  don't  know  that 
it  spoke.  It  gave  a  kind  of  cry,  as  any 
one  of  us  might  do,  if  something  dreadful 
followed  us  in  a  dream,  and  came  npon  ua 
unawares ;  and  then  it  died  off:  seeming 
to  pass  quite  round  the  church." 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


145 


"I  don  t  see  much  in  that,"  said  John, 
drawing  a  loiior  breath,  and  looking  round 
him  like  a  man  who  felt  relieved. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  returned  his  friend,  "  but 
that's  not  all." 

"  V\  hut  more  do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  is 
to  come]"  asked  John,  pausing  in  the  act 
of  wipin<j  his  face  upon  his  apron.  "  What 
are  you  a  froino-  to  lell  us  of  next!" 

"  What  I  saw." 

"  Saw  !"  echoed  all  three,  bending  for- 
ward. 

"  When  I  opened  the  church-door  to 
come  out,"  said  the  little  man,  with  an  ex- 
pression of  face  which  bore  ample  testi- 
mony  to  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction, 
"  when  I  opened  the  church-door  to  come 
out,  which  I  did  suddenly,  for  I  wanted  to 
get  it  siuit  again  before  another  gust  of 
wind  came  up,  there  crossed  me — so  close, 
that  by  stretching  out  my  hnger  I  could 
have  touched  it — something  in  the  likeness 
of  a  man.  It  was  bare-headed  to  the  storm. 
It  turned  its  face  without  slopping,  and 
fixed  its  eyes  on  mine.  It  was  a  ghost — a 
spirit." 

"  Whose  1"  they  all  three  cried  together. 

In  the  excess  of  his  emotion  (for  he  fell 
back  trembling  in  his  chair,  and  waved  his 
hand  as  if  entreating  them  to  question  him 
no  further,)  his  answer  was  lost  on  all  but 
old  John  Willet,  who  happened  to  be  seated 
close  beside  him. 

"Who!"  cried  Parkes  and  Tom  Cobb, 
looking  eagerly  by  turns  at  Solomon  Daisy 
and  at  Mr.  Willet.     "  Who  was  it !" 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Willet  after  a 
long  pause,  "ynu  needn't  ask.  The  like- 
ness of  a  murdered  man.  This  is  the 
nineteenth  of  March." 

A  profound  silence  ensued. 

"If  you'll  take  my  advice,"  said  John, 
"we  had  better,  one  and  all,  keep  this  a 
secret.  Such  tales  would  not  be  likfd  at 
the  Warren.  Let  us  keep  it  to  ourselves 
for  the  present  time  at  all  events,  or  we 
may  get  into  trouble,  and  Solomon  may 
lose  his  place.  Whether  it  was  really  as 
he  says,  or  whether  it  wasn't,  is  no  matter. 
Right  or  wrong,  nobody  would  believe  him. 
As  to  the  prohnbilities,  I  don't  myself 
think,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  eyeing  the  corners 
of  the  room  in  a  manner  which  showed 
that,  like  some  other  philosophers,  he  was 
not  quite  easy  in  his  theory,  "  t^at  a  ghost 
as  had  been  a  man  of  sense  in  his  lifetime. 


would  be  out  a-walking  in  such  weather — 
I  only  know  that  /  wouldn't,  if  1  was 
one." 

But  this  heretical  doctrine  was  strongly 
opposed  by  the  other  three,  who  quoted  a 
great  many  precedents  to  show  that  bad 
weather  was  the  very  time  for  such  ap- 
pearances; and  Mr.  Parkes  (who  had  had 
a  ghost  in  his  family,  by  the  mother's  side) 
argued  the  matter  with  so  much  ingenuity 
and  force  of  illustration,  that  John  was 
only  saved  from  having  to  retract  his  opin- 
ion by  the  opportune  appearance  of  supper, 
to  which  they  applied  themselves  with  a 
dreadful  relish.  Even  Solomon  Daisy  him- 
self, by  dint  of  the  elevating  influences  of 
fire,  lights,  brandy,  and  good  company,  so 
far  recovered  as  to  handle  his  knife  and 
fork  in  a  highly  creditjible  manner,  and  to 
display  a  capacity  both  of  eating  and  drink- 
ing, such  as  banished  all  fear  of  his  having 
sustained  any  lasting  injury  from  his  fright. 

Supper  done,  they  crowded  round  the 
fire  again,  and,  as  is  conmion  on  such  occa- 
sions, jiropounded  all  manner  of  leading 
questions  calculated  to  surround  the  story 
with  new  horrors  and  surprises.  But  Solo- 
mon Daisy,  notwithstanding  these  tempta- 
tions, adhered  so  steadily  to  his  original 
account,  and  repeated  it  so  often,  with  such 
slight  variations,  and  with  such  solemn 
asseverations  of  its  truth  and  reality,  that 
his  hearers  were  (with  good  reason)  more 
astonished  than  at  first.  As  he  took  John 
Willet's  view  of  the  matter  in  regard  to 
the  propriety  of  not  bruiting  the  tale  abroad, 
unless  the  spirit  should  appear  to  him  again, 
in  which  case  it  would  be  necessary  to  take 
immediate  counsel  with  the  clergyman,  it 
was  solemnly  resolved  that  it  should  be 
hushed  up  and  kept  quiet.  And  as  most 
'  men  like  to  have  a  secret  to  tell  which  may 
I  exalt  their  own  importance,  they  arrived  at 
this  conclusion  with  perfect  unanimity. 

As  it  was  by  this  time  growing  late,  and 
was  long  past  their  usual  hour  of  separa- 
tinsr,  the  cronies  parted  for  the  night 
Solomon  Daisy,  with  a  fresh  candle  in  hia 
lantern,  repiiired  homewards  under  the 
escort  of  long  Phil  Parkes  and  Mr.  Cobb, 
who  were  rather  more  nervous  than  him- 
self Mr.  Willet,  after  seeing  them  to  the 
door,  returned  to  collect  his  thoughts  with 
the  assistance  of  the  boiler,  and  to  listen  to 
the  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  which  had  not 
yet  abated  one  jot  of  its  fury. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-FOURTH. 

Bkfore  old  John  had  looked  at  the  boiler  thought  of  it,  the  more  impressed  he  he 
quite  twenty  minutes,  he  got  his  ideas  into  '  came  with  a  sense  of  his  own  wisdom,  and 
a  torus,  and  brought  them  to  bear  upon  a  desire  that  Mr.  Ilaredale  should  be  im- 
Solomon    Daisy's    story.      The   more   he     pressed  with  it  likewise.     At  length,  to  iht> 


146 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


end  that  he  might  sustain  a  principal  and 
important  character  in  the  affair;  and  might 
have  the  start  of  Solomon  and  his  two 
friends,  through  whose  means  he  knew  the 
adventure,  with  a  variety  of  exaggerations, 
would  be  known  to  at  least  a  score  of  peo- 
ple, and  most  likely  to  Mr.  Haredale  him- 
self, by  breakfast-time  to-morrow;  he  de- 
termined to  repair  to  the  Warren  before 
goinnf  to  bed. 

"He's  my  landlord."  thought  John,  as 
he  took  a  candle  in  his  hand,  and  setting  it 
down  in  a  corner  out  of  the  wind's  way, 
opened  a  casement  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
looking  towards  the  stables.  "  We  haven't 
met  of  late  years  so  often  as  we  used  to  do 
— changes  are  taking  place  in  the  family — 
it's  desirable  that  I  should  stand  as  well 
with  them,  in  point  of  dignity,  as  possible 
—  the  whispering  about  of  this  here  tale 
will  anger  him  —  it's  good  to  have  confi- 
dences with  a  gentleman  of  his  natur',  and 
set  one's-self  right  besides.  Halloa  there  ! 
Hugh— Hugh.     Hal-loa!" 

When  he  had  repeated  this  shout  a  dozen 
times,  and  startled  every  pigeon  from  its 
slumbers,  a  door  in  one  of  the  ruinous  old 
buildings  opened,  and  a  rough  voice  de- 
manded what  was  amiss  now,  that  a  man 
couldn't  even  have  his  sleep  in  quiet. 

"What!  Haven't  you  sleep  enough, 
growler,  that  you  're  not  to  be  knocked  up 
for  once  V  said  John. 

"No,"  replied  the  voice,  as  the  speaker 
yawned  and  shook  himself.  "  Not  half 
enough." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  can  sleep,  with 
the  wind  a  bellowing  and  roaring  about 
you,  making  the  tiles  fly  like  a  pack  of 
cards,"  said  John  ;  "  but  no  matter  for  that. 
Wrap  yourself  up  in  something  or  another, 
and  come  here,  tor  you  must  go  as  far  as 
the  Warren  with  me.  And  look  sharp 
about  it." 

Hugh,  with  much  low  growling  and 
muttering,  went  back  into  his  lair;  and 
presently  re-appeared,  carrying  a  lantern 
and  a  cudgel,  and  enveloped  from  head  to 
toot  in  an  old,  frowsy,  slouching  horse-cloth. 
Mr.  Wiilet  received  this  figure  at  the  back 
door,  and  ushered  him  into  the  bar,  while 
he  wrapped  himself  in  sundry  great-coats 
and  capes,  and  so  tied  and  knotted  his  face 
in  shawls  and  handkerchiefs,  that  how  he 
breiithf^d  was  a  mystery. 

"  You  don't  take  a  man  out  of  doors  at 
near  midnight  in  such  weather,  without 
putting  some  heart  into  him,  do  you,  mas- 
ter V  said  Hugh. 

"  Yes  r  do,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Wiilet. 
"1  put  the  heart  (as  you  call  it)  into  him 
when  he  has  brought  me  safe  home  again, 
and  his  standing  steady  on  his  legs  an"t  of 
BO  much  consequence.     So  hold  that  light 


up,  if  you  please,  and  go  on  a  step  or  two 
before,  to  show  the  way." 

Hugh  obeyed  with  a  very  indifferent 
grace,  and  a  longing  glance  at  the  bottles. 
Old  John,  laying  strict  injunctions  on  his 
cook  to  keep  the  doors  locked  in  his  ab- 
sence, and  to  open  to  nobody  but  hims  if 
on  pain  of  dismissal,  followed  him  into  the 
blustering  darkness  out  of  doors. 

The  way  was  wet  and  dismal,  and  the 
night  so  black,  that  if  Mr.  Wiilet  had  been 
his  own  pilot,  he  would  have  walked  into  a 
deep  horsepond  within  a  few  hundred  ytirdg 
of  his  own  house,  and  would  certainly  hnve 
terminated  his  career  in  that  ignoble  sphere 
of  action.  But  Hugh,  wno  had  a  sight  aa 
keen  as  any  hawk'i-,  and,  apart  from  that 
endowment,  could  have  found  his  way 
blindfold  to  any  place  within  a  dozen  miles, 
dragged  old  John  along,  quite  deaf  to  his 
remonstrances,  and  took  his  own  course 
without  the  slightest  reference  to,  or  notice 
of,  his  master.  So  they  made  head  against 
the  wind  as  they  best  could  ;  Hugh  crush- 
ing the  wet  grass  beneath  his  heavy  tread, 
and  stalking  on  after  his  ordinary  savage 
fashion;  John  Wiilet  following  at  arm's 
length,  picking  his  steps,  and  looking  about 
him,  now  for  bogs  and  ditches,  and  now  for 
such  stray  ghosts  as  might  be  wandering 
abroad,  with  looks  of  as  much  dismay  and 
uneasiness  as  his  immoveable  face  was 
capable  of  expressing. 

At  length  they  stood  upon  the  broad 
gravel-walk  before  the  Warren-hous-e. 
The  building  was  profoundly  dark,  and 
none  were  moving  near  it  save  themselves. 
From  one  solitary  turret-chamber,  however, 
there  shone  a  ray  of  light;  and  towards 
this  speck  of  comfort  in  the  cold,  cheerless, 
silent  scene,  Mr.  Wiilet  bade  his  pilot  lead 
him. 

"  The  old  room,"  said  John,  looking 
timidly  upward ;  "  Mr.  Reuben's  own 
apartment,  God  be  with  us!  I  wonder  his 
brother  likes  to  sit  there,  so  late  at  night — 
on  this  night  too." 

"  Why,  where  else  should  he  sit  ]"  asked 
Hugh,  holding  the  lantern  to  his  breast,  to 
keep  the  candle  from  the  wind,  while  he 
trimmed  it  with  his  fingers.  "It's  snug 
enouirh,  an't  itl" 

"  Snug  !"  said  John  indignantly.  "  You 
have  a  comfortable  idea  of  snugne.^s,  you 
have,  sir.  *Do  you  know  what  was  done  in 
that  room,  you  ruffian!" 

"  Why,  what  is  it  the  worse  flir  thatl" 
cried  Hugh,  looking  into  John's  fat  face. 
"  Does  it  keep  out  the  rain,  and  snow,  and 
wind,  the  less  for  that !  Is  it  l^ss  w^rm  or 
dry,  because  a  man  was  killed  there  !  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  Never  believe  it,  master.  One 
man 's  no  such  matter  as  that  comes  to." 

Mr.  Wiilet  fixed  his  dull  eyes  on  his  fol. 
lower,  and  began — by  a  species  of  inspira 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


147 


lion  —  to  think  it  just  barely  possible  that 
he  was  sornothinir  of  a  danfrerous  charac- 
ter, and  that  it  iiiifiht  be  advisable  to  (jet 
rid  ot  him  one  of  these  days.  He  was  too 
prudent  to  say  anything-,  with  the  journey 
home  before  him;  and  therefore  turned  to 
the  iron  gate  before  which  this  brief  dia- 
logue had  passed,  and  piilied  the  handle  of 
the  bell  that  hung  beside  it.  Tlie  turret 
in  which  the  light  appeared  being  at  one 
corner  of  the  building,  and  only  divi(ied 
from  tlu'  pat!)  by  one  of  the  garden-walks, 
upon  which  this  gate  opened,  Mr.  Haredale 
threw  up  the  window  directly,  and  demand- 
ed wlio  was  there. 

"Begginir  pardon,  sir,"  said  John,  "I 
knew  you  sat  up  lute,  and  made  bold  to 
come  round,  having  a  word  to  say  to 
you." 

"  Willet — is  it  not!" 

"Of  the  Maypole — at  j'our  service,  sir." 

Mr.  Haredale  closed  the  window,  and 
withdrew.  He  presently  appeared  at  a 
door  in  the  bottom  of  the  turret,  and  coming 
across  the  garden-walk,  unlocked  the  gate 
and  let  tliem  in. 

"  You  are  a  late  visiter,  Willet.  What 
Is  tiu^  [Hotter  ]" 


"Nothing  to  speak  of,  sir,"  said  John; 
"an  idle  tale,  I  thought  you  ought  to  know 
of;  nothing  more." 

"  Let  your  man  go  forward  with  the  lan- 
tern, and  give  me  your  hand.  The  stairs 
are  crooked  and  narrow.  —  Gently  with 
your  light,  friend.  You  swing  it  like  a 
censer." 

Hugh,  who  had  already  reached  the  tur- 
ret, held  it  more  steadily,  and  ascended 
first,  turning  round  from  time  to  time  to 
shed  his  light  downward  on  the  steps.  Mr. 
Haredale  following  next,  eyed  his  lowering 
face  with  no  great  favour;  and  Hugh,  look- 
ing down  on  him,  returned  his  glances  with 
interest,  as  th^y  clmibed  the  wmding  stair. 

It  terminated  in  a  little  ante-room  adjoin- 
ing that  from  which  they  had  seen  the 
light.  Mr.  Haredale  entered  first,  and  led 
the  way  through  it  into  the  latter  chamber, 
where  he  seated  himself  at  a  writing  table 
from  which  he  had  risen  when  they  rang 
the  bell. 

"Come  in,"  he  said,  beckoning  to  old 
John,  who  remained  bowing  at  the  door. 
"  Not  you,  friend,"  he  added  hastily  to 
Hugh,  who  entered  al.-o.  "  Willet,  why 
do  you  bring  that  fellow  here?" 


==^^  ^..^|.i.«i„,t, ,, ,.  'j^mm^Mimm^^.^ 


"Why,  sir,"  returned  John,  elevating 
his  eyebrows,  and  lowering  his  voice  to  the 
tone  in  which  the  question  had  been  asked 
bim,  "  he 's  a  good  guard,  you  see." 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  tliat,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  looking  towards  him  as  he  spoke. 
"I  doubt  it.     He  ha?  an  evil  eye." 


"There's  no  imagination  in  his  eye," 
returned  Mr.  Willet,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  organ  in  question,  '•  cer- 
tainly." 

"  Thpre  is  no  good  there,  be  assured," 
said  Mr.  flaredale.  "Wait  in  that  little 
loom,  friend,  and  close  thedoor  between  us  ' 


148 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


Hiitrh  shrugrg^ed  his  shoulders,  and  with 
a  disdainful  look,  which  showed,  either  that 
he  had  overheard,  or  that  he  o-uessed  the 
purport  of  their  whispering,  did  as  he  was 
to]<l.  When  he  was  shut  out,  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  turned  to  John,  and  bade  him  g-o  on 
with  what  he  had  to  say,  but  not  to  speak 
too  loud,  for  there  were  quick  ears  yonder. 

Thus  cautioned,  Mr.  Wiilet,  in  an  oily 
whisper,  recited  all  that  he  had  heard  and 
said  that  night;  laying  particular  stress 
upon  his  own  sagacity,  upon  his  great  re- 
gard for  the  family,  and  upon  his  solicitude 
for  their  peace  of  mind  and  happiness. 
The  story  moved  his  auditor  much  more 
than  he  had  expected.  Mr.  Haredale  often 
changed  his  attitude,  rose  and  paced  the 
room,  returned  again,  desired  him  to  re- 
peat, as  nearly  as  he  could,  tlie  very  words 
that  Solomon  had  used,  and  gave  so  many 
other  signs  of  being  disturbed  and  ill  at 
ease,  that  even  Mr.  Wiilet  was  surprised. 

"  You  did  quite  right,"  he  said,  at  the 
end  of  a  long  conversation,  "  to  bid  them 
keep  this  story  secret.  It  is  a  foolish 
fancy  on  the  part  of  this  weak-brained 
man,  bred  in  his  fears  and  superstition. 
But  Miss  Haredale,  though  she  would 
know  it  to  be  so,  would  be  disturbed  by  it 
if  it  reached  her  ears;  it  is  too  nearly  con- 
nected with  a  subject  very  painful  to  us 
all,  to  be  heard  with  indifference.  You 
were  most  prudent,  and  have  laid  me  under 
a  great  obligation.  I  thank  you  very 
much." 

This  was  equal  to  John's  most  sanguine 
expectations ;  but  he  would  have  preferred 
Mr.  Haredale's  looking  at  him  when  he 
spoke,  as  if  he  really  did  thank  him,  to  his 
walking  up  and  down,  speaking  by  fits  and 
starts,  often  stopping  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground,  moving  hurriedly  on  again, 
like  one  distracted,  and  seeming  almost 
unconscious  of  what  he  said  or  did. 

This,  however,  was  his  manner;  and  it 
was  so  embarrassing  to  John  that  he  sat 
([uite  passive  for  a  long  time,  not  knowing 
what  to  do.  At  length  he  rose.  Mr.  Hare- 
dale stared  at  him  for  a  moment  as  though 
he  had  quite  forgotten  his  being  present, 
then  shook  hands  with  him,  and  opened  the 
door.  Hugh,  who  was,  or  feigned  to  be, 
fast  asleep  or.  the  ante-chamber  floor,  sprang 


up  on  their  entrance,  and  throwing  his 
cloak  about  him,  grasped  his  stick  and  lan- 
tern, and  prepared  to  descend  the  stairs. 

"  Stay,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  Will  this 
man  drink  ]" 

"Drink!  He'd  drink  the  Thames  up,  if 
it  was  strong  enough,  sir,"  replied  John 
Wiilet.  "  He'll  have  something  when  he 
gets  home.  He's  better  without  it,  now, 
sir." 

"Nay.  Half  the  distance  is  done,"  said 
Hugh.  "  What  a  hard  master  you  are  !  I 
shall  go  home  the  better  for  one  glassful, 
half-way.     Come !" 

As  John  made  no  reply,  Mr.  Haredale 
brought  out  a  glass  of  liquor,  and  gave  it 
to  Hugh,  who,  as  he  took  it  in  his  hand, 
threw  part  of  it  upon  the  floor. 

"  Wiiat  do  you  mean  by  splashing  your 
drink  about  a  gentleman's  house,  sir !"  said 
John. 

"  I  'm  drinking  a  toast,"  Hugh  rejoined, 
holding  the  glass  above  his  head,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  on  Mr.  H-aredale's  face;  "a  toast 
to  this  house  and  its  master."  W'ith  that 
he  muttered  something  to  himself,  and 
drank  the  rest,  and  setting  down  the  glass, 
preceded  them  without  another  word. 

John  was  a  good  deal  scandalised  by  this 
observance,  but  seeing  that  Mr.  Haredale 
took  little  heed  of  what  Hugh  said  or  did, 
and  that  his  thoughts  were  otherwise  em- 
ployed, he  offered  no  apology,  and  went  in 
silence  down  the  stairs,  across  the  walk, 
and  through  the  garden-gate.  They  stop- 
ped upon  the  outer  side  for  Hugh  to  hold 
the  light  while  Mr.  Haredale  locked  it  on 
the  inner ;  and  then  John  saw  with  wonder 
(as  he  often  afterwards  related),  that  he 
was  very  pale,  and  that  his  face  had 
chanorpd  so  much  and  grown  so  hagjTard 
since  their  entrance,  that  he  almost  seeriicd 
another  man. 

They  were  in  the  open  road  again,  and 
John  Wiilet  was  walking  on  behind  his 
escort,  as  he  had  come,  thinking  very 
steadily  of  what  he  had  just  now  seen, 
when  Huifh  drew  him  suddenly  aside,  and 
almost  at  the  same  instant  three  horsemen 
swept  past — the  nearest  brushed  his  shoul- 
der even  then — who,  checking  their  steeds 
as  suddenly  as  they  could,  stood  still,  and 
waited  for  their  coming  up. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


149 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-FIFTH. 


When  John  Willot  saw  that  the  horse- 
men wheeled  smartly  round,  and  drew  up 
three  abreast  in  the  narrow  road,  waiting 
for  him  and  his  man  to  join  them,  it  occur- 
red to  him  with  unusual  precipitation  that 
they  must  be  hitrhwaymen;  and  had  Hu<rh 
been  armed  with  a  blunderbuss,  in  place  of 
his  stout  cudsjel,  he  would  certainly  have 
ordered  him  to  fire  it  off  at  a  venture,  and 
would,  while  the  word  of  command  was 
obeyed,  have  consulted  his  own  personal 
safety  in  immediate  fliofht.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances of  disadvantage,  iiowever,  in 
which  he  and  his  guard  were  placed,  he 
deemed  it  prudent  to  adopt  a  different  style 
of  generalship,  and  therefore  whispered  his 
attendant  to  address  them  in  the  most  peace- 
able and  courteous  terms.  By  way  of  acting 
up  to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  this  instruction, 
Hugh  stepped  forward,  and  flourishing  his 
etafl^  before  the  very  eyes  of  the  rider  nearest 
to  him,  demanded  roughly  what  he  and  his 
fellows  meant  by  so  nearly  galloping  over 
them,  and  why  they  scoured  the  king's 
highway  at  that  late  hour  of  night. 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  was  be- 
ginning an  angry  reply  in  the  same  strain, 
when  he  was  checked  by  the  horseman  in 
the  centre,  who,  interposing  with  an  air  of 
authority,  inquired  in  a  somewhat  loud  but 
not  harsh  or  unpleasant  voice: 

"Pray,  is  this  the  London  road  1" 

"If  you  follow  it  right,  it  is,"  replied 
Hugh  roughly. 

"Nay,  brother,"  said  the  same  person, 
"you're  but  a  churlish  Englishman,  if  Eng- 
lishman you  be  —  which  I  should  much 
doubt  but  for  your  tongue.  Your  compa- 
nion, I  am  sure,  will  answer  me  more  civilly. 
How  say  you,  friend  1" 

"  I  say  it  is  the  London  road,  sir,"  an- 
swered John.  "And  I  wish,"  he  added  in 
a  subdued  voice,  as  he  turned  to  Hugh, 
"  that  you  was  in  any  other  road,  you  vaga- 
bond. Y\re  you  tired  of  your  life,  sir,  that  you 
go  a-trying  to  provoke  three  great  neck-or- 
notnmg  chaps,  that  could  keep  on  running 
over  us,  back'ards  and  for'ards,  till  we  was 
dead,  and  then  take  our  bruiies  up  behind 
'em,  and  drown  us  ten  miles  ofl^!" 

"  How  far  is  it  to  London  ]"  inquired  the 
same  speaker. 

"  Why,  from  here  sir,"  answered  John, 
persuasively,  "  it 's  thirteen  very  easy 
mile." 

The  adjective  was  thrown  in,  as  an  in- 
ducement to  the  travellers  to  ride  away 
with  all  speed ;  but  instead  of  having  the 
10 


desired  effect,  it  elicited  from  the  same 
person,  the  remark,  "Thirteen  miles! 
That's  a  long  distance!"  which  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  short  pause  of  indecision. 

"  Pray,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  are  there 
any  inns  hereabouts]" 

At  the  word  "  inns,"  John  plucked  up 
his  spirit  in  a  surprising  manner;  his  fears 
rolled  off"  like  smoke;  all  the  landlord 
stirred  within  him. 

"  There  are  no  inns,"  rejoined  Mr.  Wil- 
let,  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  pluraL 
number;  "but  there's  a  Inn — one  Inn — 
the  Maypole  Inn.  That's  a  Inn  indeed. 
You  won't  see  the  like  of  that  Inn  often." 

"You  keep  it  perhaps  1"  said  the  horse- 
man, smiling. 

"I  do,  sir,"  replied  John,  greatly  won- 
dering how  he  had  found  this  out. 

"And  how  far  is  the  Maypole  from 
here ]" 

"  About  a  mile" — John  was  going  to  add 
that  it  was  the  easiest  "mile  in  all  the  world, 
when  the  third  rider,  who  had  hitherto  kept 
a  little  in  the  rear,  suddenly  interposed: 

"And  have  you  one  excellent  bed,  land- 
lord 1  Hem  !  A  bed  that  you  can  recom- 
mend— a  bed  that  you  are  sure  is  well  aired 
— a  bed  that  has  been  slept  in  by  some  per- 
fectly respectable  and  unexceptionable  per- 
son !" 

"  We  don't  take  in  no  tagrag  and  bobtail 
at  our  house,  sir,"  answered  John.  "  And 
as  to  the  bed  itself — " 

"  Say,  as  to  three  beds,"  interposed  the 
gentleman  who  had  spoken  before;  "for 
we  shall  want  three  if  we  stay,  though  my 
friend  only  speaks  of  one." 

"  No,  no,  my  lord  ;  you  are  too  good,  you 
are  too  kind;  but  your  life  is  of  far  too 
much  importance  to  the  nation  in  thpse 
portentous  times,  to  be  placed  upon  a  level 
with  one  so  useless  and  so  poor  as  mine.  A 
great  cause,  my  lord,  a  mighty  cause,  de- 
pends on  you.  You  are  its  leader  and  its 
champion,  its  advanced  guard  and  its  van. 
It  is  the  cause  of  our  altars  and  our  homes, 
our  country  and  our  faith.  Let  me  sleep 
on  a  chair — the  carpet — anywhere.  No 
one  will  repine  if  7  take  cold  or  fr>ver.  Let 
John  Grueby  pass  the  night  benoalh  the 
open  sky — no  one  will  repine  for  him.  But 
forty  thousand  men  of  this  our  island  in  the 
wave  (exclusive  of  women  and  children) 
rivet  their  eyes  and  thoughts  on  Lord 
George  Gordon ;  and  every  day,  from  the 
rising  up  of  the  sun  to  the  jroing  down  of 
the  same,  pray  for  his  health  and  vigour 


150 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


My  lord,"  said  the  speaker,  rising  in  his 
stirrups,  "  it  is  a  glorious  cause,  and  must 
not  be  forgotten.  My  lord,  it  is  a  mighty 
cause,  and  must  not  be  endangered.  My 
lord,  it  is  a  holy  cause,  and  must  not  je 
deserted." 

"  It  is  a  holy  cause,"  exclaimed  his  lord- 
ship, lifting  up  his  hat  with  great  solemnity. 
"  Amen !" 

"John  Grueby,"  said  the  long-winded 
gentleman,  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproof,  "  his 
lordship  said  Amen." 

"  I  heard  my  lord,  sir,"  said  the  man, 
sitting  like  a  statue  on  his  horse. 

"  And  do  not  ynu  say  Amen,  likewise?" 

To  which  John  Grueby  made  no  reply  at 
all,  but  sat  looking  straight  before  him. 

"  You  surprise  me,  Grueby,"  said  the 
gentleman.  "At  a  crisis  like  the  present, 
when  Queen  Elizabeth,  that  maiden  mo- 
narch, weeps  within  her  tomb,  and  Bloody 
Mary,  with  a  brow  of  gloom  and  shadow, 
stalks  triumphant — " 

"Oh,  sir,"  cried  the  man,  gruffly, 
"  where 's  the  use  of  talking  of  Bloody 
Mary,  under  such  circumstances  as  the 
present,  when  my  lord 's  wet  through  and 
tired  with  hard  riding?  Let's  either  go  on 
to  London,  sir,  or  put  up  at  once ;  or  that 
unforl'nate  Bloody  Mary  will  have  more  to 
answer  for — and  she's  done  a  deal  more 
harm  in  her  grave  than  she  ever  did  in  her 
lifetime,  I  believe." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Willet,  who  had  never 
heard  so  many  words  spoken  together  at 
one  time,  or  delivered  with  such  volubility 
and  emphasis  as  by  the  long-winded  gentle- 
man ;  and  whose  brain,  being  wholly  un- 
able to  sustain  or  compass  them,  had  quite 
given  itself  up  for  lost;  recovered  so  fur 
as  to  observe  that  there  was  ample  accom- 
modation at  the  Maypole  for  all  the  party : 
good  beds;  neat  wines;  excellent  enter- 
tainment for  man  and  beast;  private  rooms 
for  large  or  small  parties;  dinners  dressed 
upon  the  shortest  notice;  choice  stabling, 
and  a  lock-up  coach-house:  and,  in  short, 
to  run  over  such  recommendatory  scraps 
of  language  as  were  painted  up  on  various 
portions  of  the  building,  and  which,  in  the 
course  of  some  forty  years,  he  had  learnt 
to  repeat  with  tolerable  correctness.  He 
was  considering  wi\ether  it  was  at  all  pos- 
sible to  insert  any  novel  sentoncps  to  the 
same  purpose,  when  the  gpntlemnn  who 
had  spoken  first,  turning  to  him  of  the  long 
wind  exclaimed,  "  What  say  you,  Gash- 
for";  Shall  we  tarry  at  this  house  he  speaks 
of,  or  press  forward  !    You  shall  decide." 

"I  would  submit,  my  lord,  then,"  re- 
curned  the  person  he  appealed  to,  in  a  silky 
lone,  "that  your  tiealth  and  spirits — so  im- 
portant,  under   Providence,  to   our   great 


cause,  our  pure  and  truthful  cause" — here 
his  lordship  pulled  off  his  hat  again,  though 
it  was  raining  hard — "  require  refreshment 
and  repose." 

"  Go  on  before,  landlord,  and  show  the 
way,"  said  Lord  George  Gordon ;  "  we  wil- 
follow  at  a  footpace." 

"  If  you'll  give  me  leave,  my  lord,"  said 
.John  Grueby,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  '11  change 
my  proper  place,  and  ride  before  you.  The 
looks  of  the  landlord's  friend  are  not  over- 
honest,  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  be  cautious 
with  him." 

"John  Grueby  is  quite  right,"  interposed 
Mr.  Gashford,  falling  back  hastily.  "  My 
lord,  a  life  so  precious  as  yours  must  not  be 
put  in  peril.  Go  forward,  John,  by  all 
means.  If  you  have  any  reason  to  suspect 
the  fellow,  blow  his  brains  out." 

John  made  no  answer,  but  looking 
straight  before  him,  as  his  custom  seemed 
to  be  when  the  secretary  spoke,  bade  Hugh 
push  on,  and  followed  close  behind  him. 
Then  came  his  lordship,  with  Mr.  Willet 
at  his  bridle-rein;  and,  last  of  all,  his  lord- 
ship's secretary — for  that,  it  seemed,  was 
Gash  ford's  office. 

Hugh  strode  briskly  on,  often  looking 
back  at  the  servant,  whose  horse  was  close 
upon  his  heels,  and  glancing  with  a  leer  at 
his  holster  case  of  pistols,  by  which  he 
seemed  to  set  great  store.  He  was  a  square- 
built,  strong-made,  bull-necked  fellow,  of 
the  true  p]nglish  breed;  and  as  Hugh 
measured  him  with  his  eye,  he  measured 
Hugh,  regarding  him  meanwhile  with  a 
look  of  bluff  disdain.  He  was  much  older 
than  tiie  Maypole  man,  being  to  all  ap- 
pearance five-and-forty ;  but  was  one  ot 
those  self-possessed,  hard-headed,  imper- 
turbable fellows,  who,  if  they  ever  are  beat 
at  fisty-cuffs,  or  other  kind  of  warfare,  never 
know  it,  and  go  on  coolly  till  they  win. 

"  If  I  led  you  wrong  now,"  said  Hugh, 
tauntingly,  "you'd  —  ha  ha  ha!  —  you'd 
shoot  me  through  the  head,  I  suppose." 

John  Grueby  took  no  more  notice  of  this 
remark  than  if  he  had  been  deaf  and  Hugh 
dumb;  but  kept  riding  on,  quite  comforta- 
bly, with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  horizon. 

"Did  you  ever  try  a  fall  with  a  man 
when  you  were  young,  master?"  said 
Hugh.  "  Can  you  make  any  play  at  single- 
slick  ?" 

.Tdliii  Grueby  looked  at  him  sideways 
with  the  same  contented  air,  but  deigned 
not  a  word  in  answer. 

" — Like  this?"  said  Hugh,  giving  hia 
I  cudffol  one  of  those  skilful  flourishes,  in 
I  which  the  rustic  of  that  time  delighted, 
j"  Whoop!" 

"  —  Or  that,"  returned  John  Grueby, 
1  beating  down  1  is  guard  with  his  whip,  and 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


151 


gtrikinw  him  on  the  head  with  its  butt  end. 
"Yes,  I  played  a  little  once.  You  wear 
your  hair  too  lonnr;  I  sliould  have  cracked 
your  crown  if  it  had  been  a  little  phorter." 

It  was  a  pretty  smart,  loud-soundinjT  rap, 
as  it  was,  and  evidently  astonished  Hugh  ; 
who,  for  the  moment,  seemed  disposed  to 
drag  his  new  acquaintance  from  his  sad- 
dle. But  his  face  betokening  neither  malice, 
triumph,  rage,  nor  any  lingering  idea  that 
he  had  given  him  offence  ;  his  eyes  gazing 
steadily  in  the  old  direction,  and  his  man- 
ner being  as  careless  and  composed  as  if 
he  had  merely  brushed  away  a  fly ;  Hugh 
was  so  puzzled,  and  so  disposed  to  look 
upon  him  as  a  customer  of  almost  superna- 
tural toughness,  that  he  merely  laughed, 
and  cried  "  Well  done !"  then,  sheering  off 
a  little,  led  the  way  in  silence. 

Before  the  lapse  of  many  minutes  the 
party  halted  at  the  Maypole  door.  Lord 
George  and  his  secretary  quickly  dismount- 
ing, gave  their  horses  to  their  servant,  who, 
under  the  guidance  of  Hugh,  repaired  to 
the  stables.  Right  glad  to  escape  from  the 
inclemency  of  the  night,  they  followed  Mr. 
Willet  into  the  common  room,  and  stood 
warming  themselves  and  drying  their 
clothes  before  the  cheerful  fire,  while  he 
busied  himself  with  such  orders  and  pre- 
parations as  his  guest's  high  quality  re- 
quired. 

As  he  bustled  in  and  out  of  the  room, 
intent  on  these  arrangements,  he  had  an 
opportunity  of  observing  the  two  travellers, 
of  whom,  as  yet,  he  knew  nothing  but  the 
voice.  The  Lord,  the  great  personage, 
who  did  the  Maypole  so  much  honour,  was 
about  the  middle  height,  of  a  slender  make, 
and  sallow  complexion,  with  an  aquiline 
nose,  and  long  hair  of  a  reddish  brown, 
combed  perfectly  straight  and  smooth  about 
his  ears,  and  slightly  powdered,  but  without 
the  faintest  vestige  of  a  curl.  He  was  at- 
tired, under  his  great-coat,  in  a  full  suit  of 
black,  quite  free  from  any  ornament,  and 
of  the  mo.st  precise  and  sober  cut.  The 
gravity  of  his  dress,  togelhpr  with  a  certain 
lankness  of  cheek  and  stiffness  of  deport- 
ment, added  nearly  ten  years  to  his  age, 
but  his  figure  was  that  of  one  not  yet  past 
thirty.  As  he  stood  musing  in  the  red 
glow  of  the  fire,  it  was  striking  to  observe 
his  very  bright  large  eye,  which  betrayed 
a  restlessness  of  llinuLflit  and  purpose,  sin- 
gularly at  variance  with  the  studied  com- 
posure and  sobriety  of  his  mien,  and  with 
his  quaint  and  sad  apparel.  It  had  nothing 
harsh  or  cruel  in  its  expression ;  neither 
had  his  face,  which  was  thin  and  mild,  and 
wore  an  air  of  mplancholy  ;  but  it  was  sug- 
gestive of  an  indefinable  uneasiness,  which 
infected  those  who  looked  uoon  him    and 


filled  them  with  a  kind  of  pity  for  the  man: 
though  why  it  did  so,  they  would  have  had 
some  trouble  to  explain. 

Gashford,  the  secretary,  was  taller,  an- 
gularly made,  high-shuuldered,  bony,  and 
ungraceful.  His  dress,  in  imitation  of  his 
superior,  was  demure  and  staid  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  his  manner,  formal  and  constrained. 
This  gentleman  had  an  overhanging  brow, 
great  hands  and  feet  and  ears,  and  a  pair 
of  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  made  an  un- 
natural retreat  into  his  head,  and  to  have 
dug  themselves  a  cave  to  hide  in.  His 
manner  was  smooth  and  humble,  but  very 
sly  and  slinking.  He  wore  the  aspect  of 
a  man  who  was  always  lying  in  wait  for 
something  that  wouldii't  come  to  pass;  but 
he  looked  patient — very  patient — and  fawn- 
ed like  a  spaniel  dog.  Even  now,  while  he 
warmed  and  rubbed  his  hands  before  the 
blaze,  he  had  the  air  of  one  who  only  pre- 
sumed to  enjoy  it  in  his  degree  as  a  com- 
moner ;  and  though  he  knew  his  lord  was 
not  regarding  him,  he  looked  into  his  face 
from  time  to  time,  and,  with  a  meek  and 
deferential  manner,  smiled  as  if  for  practice. 

Such  were  the  guests  whom  old  John 
Willet,  with  a  fixed  and  leaden  eye,  sur- 
veyed a  hundred  times,  and  to  whom  he 
now  advanced  with  a  state  candlestick  ir, 
each  hand,  beseeching  them  to  follow  him 
into  a  worthier  chamber.  "  For  my  lord," 
said  John  —  it  is  odd  enough,  but  certain 
people  seem  to  have  as  great  a  pleasure  in 
pronouncing  titles  as  their  owners  have  in 
wearing  them — "  this  room,  my  lord,  isn't 
at  all  the  sort  of  place  for  your  lordship, 
and  I  have  to  beg  your  lordship's  pardon 
for  keeping  you  here,  my  lord,  one  minute." 

With  this  address,  John  ushered  them  up 
stairs  into  the  state  apartment,  which,  like 
many  other  things  of  state,  was  cold  and 
comfortless.  Their  own  footsteps,  rever- 
berating through  the  spacious  room,  struck 
upon  their  hearing  with  a  hollow  sound; 
and  its  damp  and  cliilly  atmosphere  was 
rendered  doubly  cheerless  by  contrast  with 
the  homely  warmth  they  had  deserted. 

It  was  of  no  use,  however,  to  propose  a 
return  to  the  place  they  had  quitted,  for 
the  preparations  went  on  so  briskly  that 
there  was  no  time  to  stop  them.  John, 
with  the  tall  candlesticks  in  his  linnds, 
bowed  them  up  to  the  fire-plnce;  llnph, 
striding  in  with  a  lighted  brand  .-mii  pil.  i.f 
fire-wood,  cast  it  down  upon  the  hearth, 
and  set  it  in  a  blaze;  John  Grueby  (who 
had  a  great  blue  cockade  in  his  hnt,  vvhu  h 
he  appeared  to  despise  mightily)  brought 
in  the  portmanteau  he  had  carried  on  his 
horse,  and  placed  it  on  the  floor;  and  pre- 
sently all  three  were  busily  engageil  in 
drawing  out  the  screen,  laying  *he  ciotJi. 


152 


i^,    BARNABY   RUDGE. 


inspecting  the  beds,  lighting  fires  in  the 
bedrooms,  expediting  the  supper,  and  mak- 
ing everything  as  cosy  and  as  snug  as 
might  be,  on  so  short  a  notice.  In  less 
than  an  hour's  time,  supper  had  been  serv- 
ed, and  ate,  and  cleared  away ;  and  Lord 
George  and  his  secretary,  with  slippered 
feet,  and  legs  stretched  out  before  the  fire, 
sat  over  some  hot  mulled  wine  together. 

"  So  ends,  my  lord,"  said  Gash  ford,  filling 
his  glass  with  great  complacency,  "the 
blessed  work  of  a  most  blessed  day," 

"  And  of  a  blessed  yesterday,"  said  his 
lordsliip,  raising  his  head. 

"  Ah  !" — and  here  the  secretary  clasped 
his  hands  —  "a  blpssed  yesterday  indeed  ! 
The  Protestants  of  Suffolk  are  godly  men 
and  true.  Though  others  of  our  country- 
men have  lost  their  way  in  darkness,  even 
as  we,  my  lord,  did  lose  our  road  to-night, 
theirs  is  the  light  nrid  glory." 

"Did  1  move  them,  Gashfordl"  said 
Lord  George. 

••  Move  them,  my  lord  !  Move  them  ! 
They  cried  to  be  led  on  against  the  Pa- 
pists, they  vowed  a  dreadful  vengeance  on 
their  heads,  they  roared  like  men  pos- 
sessed— " 

"  But  not  by  devils,"  said  his  lord. 

•  Bv  devils!    my  lord  !    By  angels." 


"  Yes — oh  surely — by  angels,  no  doubt," 
said  Lord  George,  thrusting  his  hands  into 
his  pockets,  taking  them  out  aaain  to  bite 
his  nails,  and  looking  uncomfortably  at  the 
fire.  "Of  course  by  angels — eh  Gashfordl" 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it,  my  lord  !'  said  the 
secretary. 

"No  —  no,"  returned  his  lord.  "No. — 
Why  should  1 1  I  suppose  it  would  be  de- 
cidedly irrelitrious  to  doubt  it — wouldn't  it 
Gashford  ]  Though  there  certainly  were," 
he  added,  without  waiting  tor  an  answer, 
"some  plaguy  ill-looking  characters  among 
them." 

"  V/hen  you  warmed,"  said  the  secretary, 
looking  sharply  at  the  other's  downcast 
eyes,  which  brightened  slowly  as  he  spoke; 
"  when  you  warmed  into  that  noble  out- 
break: when  you  told  them  that  you  were 
never  of  the  lukewarm  or  the  timid  tribe, 
and  bade  them  take  heed  that  they  were 
prepared  to  follow  one  w  ho  would  lead  them 
on,  though  to  the  very  death;  when  you 
spoke  of  a  lumdred  and  twenty  thousand 
men  across  the  Scottisli  border  who  would 
take  their  own  redress  at  any  time,  if  it 
were  not  conceded;  when  you  cried  'Pe- 
rish the  Pope  and  all  his  base  adherents; 
the  penal  laws  against  them  shall  never  be 
repealed  while  Englishmen  have  hearts  and 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


153 


hands* — and  waved  your  own  and  touched 
your  sword  ;  and  when  they  cried  '  No  Po- 
pery !'  and  you  cried  '  No ;  not  even  if  we 
wade  in  blood,'  and  they  threw  up  their 
hats  and  cried  'Hurrah!  not  even  if  we 
wade  in  blood  ;  No  Popery  !  Lord  George  ! 
Down  with  the  Papists — Venj^eance  on 
their  heads  :'  when  this  was  said  and  done, 
and  a  word  from  you,  my  lord,  could  raise 
or  still  the  tumult  —  ah!  then  I  felt  what 
gfrcatness  was  indeed,  and  thoutjht,  When 
was  there  ever  power  like  this  of  Lord 
(leorge  Gordon's !" 

"  It 's  a  g^reat  power.  You  're  ricrht.  It 
is  a  Efreat  power!"  he  cried  with  sparklinfr 
eyes.  "  But — dear  Gashford — did  I  really 
pay  all  that]" 

"  And  how  much  more !"  cried  the  secre- 
tary, looking  upwards.  "Ah!  how  much 
more !" 

"  And  I  told  them  what  you  say,  about 
the  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand  men  in 
Scotland,  did  I !"  he  asked  with  evident 
delight.     »  That  was  bold." 

"  Our  cause  is  boldness.  Truth  is  always 
bold." 

"  Certainly.  So  is  religion.  She 's  bold, 
Gashford  ]" 

"  The  true  religion  is,  my  lord." 

"  And  that's  ours,"  he  rejoined,  moving 
uneasily  in  his  seat,  and  biting  his  nails  as 
though  he  would  pare  them  to  the  quick. 
"There  can  be  no  doubt  of  ours  being  the 
true  one.  You  feel  as  certain  of  that  as  I 
do,  Gashford,  don't  you  ]" 

"  Does  my  lord  ask  /ne,"  whined  Gash- 
ford, drawing  his  chair  nearer  with  an  in- 
jured air,  and  laying  his  broad  flat  hand 
upon  the  table;  "wie,"  he  repeated,  bend- 
ing the  dark  hollows  of  his  eyes  upon  him 
with  an  unwholesome  smile,  "  who,  stricken 
by  the  magic  of  his  eloquence  in  Scotland 
but  a  year  ago,  abjured  the  errors  of  the 
Romish  church,  and  clung  to  him  as  one 
whose  timely  hand  had  plucked  me  from 
apiti" 

"True.  No — No.  I — I  didn't  mean  it," 
replied  the  other,  shaking  him  by  the  hand, 
rising  from  his  seat,  and  pacing  restlessly 
about  the  r\iom.  "It's  a  proud  thing  to 
lead  the  people,  Gashford,"  he  added  as  he 
made  a  sudden  halt. 

"  By  force  of  reason  too,"  returned  the 
pliant  secretary. 

"Ay,  to  be  sure.  They  may  cough,  and 
jeer,  and  groan  in  Parliament,  and  call  me 
fool  and  madman ;  but  which  of  them  can 
raise  this  human  sea  and  make  it  swell  and 
roar  at  pleasure]    Not  one." 

"  Not  one,"  repeated  Gashford. 

"  Which  of  them  can  say  for  his  honesty, 
what  I  can  say  for  mine;  which  of  them 
has  refused  a  minister's  bribe  of  one  thou- 


sand pounds  a  year,  to  resiorn  his  seat  in 
favour  of  another  ?    Not  one." 

"Not  one,"  repeated  Gashford  again — 
taking  the  lion's  share  of  the  mulled  wine 
between  whiles. 

"  And  as  we  are  honest,  true,  and  in  a 
sacred  cause,  Gashford,"  said  Lord  George 
with  a  heightened  colour  and  in  a  louder 
voice,  as  he  laid  his  fevered  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  "  and  are  the  otily  men  who  re- 
gard the  mass  of  people  out  of  doors,  or  are 
regarded  by  them,  we  will  uphold  them  to 
the  last;  and  will  raise  a  cry  against  these 
un-English  Papists  which  shall  re-echo 
through  the  country,  and  roll  with  a  noise 
like  thunder.  I  will  be  worthy  of  the 
motto  on  my  coat  of  arms,  '  Called  and 
chosen  and  faithful.' " 

"  Called,"  said  the  secretary,  "  by  Hea- 
ven." 

"  I  am." 

*'  Chosen  by  the  people." 

"  Yes." 

"  Faithful  to  both." 

"To  the  block!" 

It  would  be  difficult  to  convey  an  ade- 
quate idea  of  the  excited  manner  in  which 
he  gave  these  answers  to  the  secretary's 
promptings;  of  the  rapidity  of  his  utterance, 
or  the  violence  of  his  tone  and  gesture ;  in 
which,  struggling  through  his  Puritan's 
demeanour,  was  sometiiing  wild  and  un- 
governable which  broke  through  all  re- 
straint. For  some  minutes  he  walked 
rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  then  stop- 
ping suddenly,  exclaimed, 

"  Gashford —  You  moved  them  yesterday 
too.     Oh  yes  !  You  did." 

"  I  shone  with  a  reflected  light,  my  lord," 
replied  the  humble  secretary,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  heart.     "  I  did  my  best." 

"You  did  well,"  said  his  master,  "and 
are  a  great  and  worthy  instrument.  If  you 
will  ring  for  John  Grueby  to  carry  the 
portmanteau  into  my  room,  and  will  wait 
here  while  I  undress,  we  will  dispose  of 
business  as  usual,  if  you 're  not  too  tired." 

"  Too  tired,  my  lord  !  —  But  this  is  his 
consideration  !  Christian  from  head  to  foot." 
With  which  soliloquy,  the  secretary  tilted 
the  jug,  and  looked  very  hard  into  the 
mulled  wine,  to  see  how  much  remained. 

John  Willet  and  John  Grueby  appeared 
together.  The  one  bearing  the  great  can- 
dlesticks, and  the  other  the  portmanteau, 
showed  the  deluded  lord  nito  his  chamber; 
and  left  the  secietary  alone,  to  yawn  and 
shake  himself,  and  finally  to  fall  asleep  oe- 
fore  the  fire. 

"  Now  Mr.  Gashford  sir,"  said  John  Grue- 
by in  his  ear,  after  what  appeared  to  him  a 
moment  of  unconsciousness ;   "  my  lord  'a 


154 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  Oh.  Very  good  John,"  was  his  mild 
reply.  "  Thank  you  John.  Nobody  need 
eit  up.     I  know  my  room." 

"  I  hope  you  're  not  a  going  to  trouble 
your  head  to-ni<rht,  or  my  lord's  head 
neither,  witli  anything  more  about  Bloody 
Mary,"  said  John.  "  I  wish  the  blessed 
old  creetur  had  never  been  born." 

"  I  said  you  might  go  to  bed,  John,"  re- 
turned the  secretary.  "You  didn't  hear 
me,  I  think." 

"  Between  Bloody  Marys,  and  blue  cock- 
ades, and  glorious  Queen  Besses,  and  no 
Poperys,  and  Protestant  associations,  and 
making  of  speeches,"  pursued  John  Grueby, 
looking,  as  usual,  a  long  way  off,  and  tak- 
ing no  notice  of  this  hint,  "  my  lord  's  half 
off  his  head.  When  we  go  out  o'  doors, 
such  a  set  of  ragamuffins  comes  a  shouting 
after  us  '  Gordon  for  ever  !'  that  I  'm  asham- 
ed of  myself  and  don't  know  where  to  look. 
When  we  're  in-doors,  they  come  a  roaring 
and  screaming  about  the  house  like  so  many 
devils:  and  my  lord  instead  of  ordering 
them  to  be  drove  away,  goes  out  into  the 
balcony  and  demeans  himself  by  making 
speeches  to  'em,  and  calls  'em  '  Men  of 
England,'  and  '  Fellow-countrymen,'  as  if 


he  was  fond  of  'em  and  thanked  'em  for 
coming.  I  can't  make  it  out,  but  they  're 
all  mixed  up  somehow  or  another  with  that 
unfort'nate  Bloody  Mary,  and  call  her  name 
out  till  they're  hoarse.  They're  all  Pro- 
testants too  —  every  man  and  boy  among 
'em:  and  Protestants  is  very  fond  of  spoons 
I  find,  and  silver  plate  in  general,  when- 
ever area-gates  is  left  open  accidentally.  I 
wish  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  that  no 
more  harm  might  be  to  come ;  but  if  you 
don't  stop  these  ugly  customers  in  time, 
Mr.  Gashford,  (and  I  know  you;  you're 
the  man  that  blows  the  fire)  you  'il  find 
'em  grow  a  little  bit  too  strong  for  you. 
One  of  these  evenings,  wken  the  weather 
gets  warmer  and  Protestants  are  thirsty, 
they'll  be  pulling  London  down, -—and  1 
never  heerd  that  Bloody  Mary  went  as  far 
as  /A«/." 

Gashford  had  vanished  long  ago,  and 
these  remarks  had  been  bestowed  on  empty 
air.  Not  at  all  discomposed  by  the  dis- 
covery, John  Grueby  fixed  his  hat  on, 
wrong  side  foremost  that  he  might  be  un- 
conscious of  the  shadow  of  the  obnoxious 
cockade,  and  withdrew  to  bed  ;  shaking  his 
head  in  a  very  gloomy  and  prophetic  man* 
ner  until  he  reached  his  chamber. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-SIXTH. 


Gashford,  with  a  smiling  face,  but  still 
with  looks  of  profound  deference  and  hu- 
mility, betook  himself  towards  his  master's 
room,  smoothing  his  hair  down  as  he  went, 
and  humming  a  psalm  tune.  As  he  ap- 
proached Lord  George's  door,  he  cleared 
his  throat  and  hummed  more  vigorously. 

There  was  a  remarkable  contrast  be- 
tween this  man's  occupation  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  the  expression  of  his  counte- 
nance, which  was  singularly  repulsive  and 
malicious.  His  beetling  brow  almost  ob- 
scured his  eyes;  his  lip  was  curled  con- 
temptuously; his  very  shoulders  seemed  to 
sneer  in  stealtny  whisperings  with  his  great 
flapped  ears. 

"  Hush  !"  he  muttered  softly,  as  he  peep- 
ed in  at  the  chamber-door.  "  He  seems  to 
\e  asleep.  Pray  Fl«^aven,  he  is!  Too 
much  watching,  too  much  care,  too  much 
thought  —  ah!  Lord  preserve  him  for  a 
martyr !  He  is  a  saint,  if  ever  saint  drew 
oreath  on  this  bad  earth." 


Placing  his  light  upon  a  table,  he  wait- 
ed on  tiptoe  to  the  fire,  and  sitting  in  a 
chair  before  it  with  his  back  towards  the 
bed,  went  on  communhig  with  himself  like 
one  who  thought  aloud  : 

*'  The  saviour  of  his  country  and  his 
country's  religion,  the  friend  of  his  poor 
countrymen,  the  enemy  of  the  proud  and 
harsh ;  beloved  of  the  rejected  and  oppres- 
sed, adored  by  forty  thousand  bold  and  loyal 
English  hearts  —  what  happy  slumbers  his 
should  be !"  And  here  he  sighed,  and 
warmed  his  hands,  and  shook  his  head  aa 
men  do  when  their  hearts  are  full,  and 
heaved  another  sigh,  and  warmed  his  hands 
again. 

"  Why,  Gashford  !"  said  Lord  George, 
who  was  lying  broad  awake,  upon  his  side, 
and  had  been  staring  at  him  from  hia 
entrance. 

"  My — my  lord,"  said  Gashford,  starting 
and  looking  round  as  though  in  great  svis«> 
prise.     "  I  have  disturbed  you  1" 


BARNABY    RUDGE, 


155 


**I  have  not  been  sleeping." 

"  Not  sleeping !"  he  repeated,  with  as- 
sumed confusion.  "  What  can  1  say  for 
having  in  your  presence  given  utterance  to 
thoughts  — but  they  were  sincere  —  they 
were  sincere!"  exclaimed  the  secretary, 
drawing  his  sleeve  in  a  hasty  way  across 
liis  eyes ;  "  and  why  should  I  regret  your 
having  heard  them  !" 

"  Gashford,"  said  the  poor  lord,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  with  manifest  emotion. 
"Do  not  regret  it.  You  love  me  well,  I 
know  —  too  well.  I  don't  deserve  such 
homage." 

Gashford  made  no  reply,  but  grasped  the 
hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  Then 
rising,  and  taking  from  the  trunk  a  little 
desk,  he  placed  it  on  a  table  near  the  tire, 
unlocked  it  with  a  key  he  carried  in  his 
pocket,  sat  down  before  it,  took  out  a  pen, 
and,  before  dipping  it  in  the  inkstand,  suck- 
ed it — to  compose  the  fashion  of  his  mouth 
perhaps,  on  which  a  smile  was  hovering 
yet. 

"  How  do  our  numbers  stand  since  last 
enrolling-night?"  inquired  Lord  George. 
"  Are  we  really  forty  thousand  strong,  or 
do  we  still  speak  in  round  numbers  when 
we  take  the  Association  at  that  amount  1" 

"  Our  total  now  exceeds  that  number  by 
a  score  and  three,"  Gashford  replied,  cast- 
ing his  eyes  upon  his  papers. 

"The  funds!" 

"  Not  very  improving ;  but  there  is  some 
manna  in  the  wilderness,  my  lord.  Hem  ! 
On  Friday  night  the  widows'  mites  drop- 
ped in.  '  Forty  scavengers,  three  and  four- 
pence.  An  aged  pew-opener  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's parish,  sixpence.  A  bell-ringer  of  the 
established  church,  sixpence.  A  Protes- 
tant infant,  newly  born,  one  halfpenny. 
The  United  Link  Boys,  three  shillings  — 
one  bad.  The  anti-popish  prisoners  in 
Newgate,  five  and  fourpence.  A  friend  in 
Bedlam,  half-a-crown.  Dennis  the  hang- 
man, one  shilling.' " 

"  That  Dennis,"  said  his  lordship,  "  is  an 
earnest  man.  I  marked  him  in  the  crowd 
in  Welbeck  Street,  last  Friday." 

"  A  good  man,"  rejoined  the  secretary ; 
"a  staunch,  sincere,  and  truly  zealous 
man." 

"  He  should  be  encouraged,"  said  Lord 
George.  "Make  a  note  of  Dennis.  I'll 
talk  with  him." 

Gashford  obeyed,  and  went  on  reading 
from  his  list: 

"  '  The  Friends  of  Reason,  half-a-guinea. 
The  Friends  of  Liberty,  half-a-guinea. 
The  Friends  of  Peace,  half-a-guinea.  The 
Friends  of  Charity,  half-a-guinea.  The 
Friends  of  Mercy,  half-a-guinea.  The  As- 
•^wi^teci  Rememberers  of   Bloody  Mary, 


half-a-guinea.  The  United  Bull-Dogs,  halP 
a-guinea.'  " 

"The  United  Bull-Dogs,"  said  Lorl 
George,  biting  his  nails  most  horribly,  "are 
a  new  socit^ty,  are  they  not!" 

"Formerly  tiie  'Prentice  Knights,  my 
lord.  The  indentures  of  the  old  members 
expiring  by  degrees,  tiiey  changed  their 
name,  it  seems,  though  they  still  have 
'prentices  among  them,  as  well  as  work- 
men." 

"  What  is  their  president's  name  "i"  in- 
quired Lord  George. 

"President,"  said  Gashford,  reading, 
"  Mr.  Simon  Tappertit." 

"  I  remember  him.  The  little  man,  who 
sometimes  brings  an  elderly  sister  to  our 
meetings,  and  sometimes  another  female 
too,  who  is  conscientious,  I  have  no  doubt, 
but  not  well-favoured  V 

"  The  very  same,  my  lord." 

"Tappertit  is  an  earnest  man,"  said  Lord 
George,  thoughtfully.     "  Eh,  Gashford  ]" 

"  One  of  the  foremost  among  them  all, 
my  lord.  He  snuffs  the  battle  from  afar, 
like  the  war-horse.  He  throws  his  hat  up 
in  the  street  as  if  he  were  inspired,  and 
makes  most  stirring  speeches  from  the 
shoulders  of  his  friends." 

"  Make  a  note  of  Tappertit,"  said  Lord 
George  Gordon.  "  We  may  advance  him 
to  a  place  of  trust." 

"  That,"  rejoined  the  secretary,  duing  as 
he  wa^  told,  "  is  all — except  Mrs.  Varden's 
box  (fourteenth  time  of  opening),  seven 
shillings  and  sixpence  in  silver  and  copper, 
and  half-a-guinea  in  gold  ;  and  Miggs  (be- 
ing the  saving  of  a  quarter's  wages),  one 
and-threepence." 

"  Miggs,"  said  Lord  George.  "Is  that  a 
man  ?" 

"  The  name  is  entered  on  the  list  as  a 
woman,"  replied  the  secretary.  "  I  think 
she  is  the  tall  spare  female  of  whom  you 
spoke  just  now,  my  lord,  as  not  being  well- 
favoured,  who  sometimes  comes  to  hear  the 
speeches — along  with  Tappertit  and  Mrs. 
Varden." 

"  Mrs.  Varden  is  the  elderly  lady  then, 
is  she !" 

The  secretary  nodded,  and  rubbed  the 
bridge  of  his  nose  with  the  feather  of  hia 
pen. 

"  She  is  a  zealous  sister,"  said  Lord 
George.  "  Her  collection  goes  on  prosper- 
ously, and  is  pursued  with  fervour.  Has 
her  husband  joined  ]" 

"  A  malignant,"  returned  the  secretary, 
folding  up  his  papers.  "  Unworthy  such  a 
wife.  He  remains  in  outer  darkness,  and 
steadily  refuses." 

"  The  consequences  be  upon  his  own 
head !— Gashford  I" 


156 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  My  lord !" 

»  You  don't  think,"  he  turned  restlessly 
in  his  bed  as  he  spoi<e,  "  these  people  will 
desert  me,  when  the  hour  arrives  1  I  have 
spoken  boldly  for  them,  ventured  much, 
suppressed  nothing.  They  '11  not  fall  otf, 
will  they?" 

"  No  fear  of  that,  my  lord,"  said  Gash- 
ford,  with  a  meaning  look,  which  was 
rather  the  involuntary  expression  of  his 
own  thoughts  than  intended  as  any  confir- 
mation of  his  words,  for  the  other's  face 
was  turned  away.  "Be  sure  there  is  no 
fear  of  that." 

"Nor,"  he  said  with  a  more  restless 
motion  than  before,  "of  their  —  but  they 
can  sustain  no  harm  from  leaguing  for  this 
purpose.  Right  is  on  our  side,  though 
Might  may  be  against  us.  You  feel  as 
sure  of  that  as  I — honestly,  you  do  ?" 

The  secretary  was  beginning  with  "  You 
do  not  doubt,"  when  the  other  interrupted 
him,  and  impatiently  rejoined  : 

"  Doubt !  No.  Who  says  I  doubt  ?  If 
1  doubted,  should  I  cast  away  relatives, 
friends,  everything,  for  this  unhappy  coun- 
try's sake ;  this  unhappy  country,"  he 
cried,  springing  up  in  bed,  after  repeating 
the  phrase  "  unhappy  country's  sake"  to 
himself,  at  least  a  dozen  times,  "  forsaken 
of  God  and  man,  delivered  over  to  a  dan- 
gerous confederacy  of  Popish  powers  ;  the 
prey  of  corruption,  idolatry,  and  despotism  ! 
Who  says  I  doubt?  Am  I  called,  an^  cho- 
sen, and  faithful  ?  Tell  me.  Am  I,  or  am 
I  not." 

"  To  God,  the  country,  and  yourself," 
cried  Gashford. 

"  I  am.  I  will  be.  I  say  again,  I  will 
be :  to  the  block.  Who  says  as  much  ! 
Do  you  ?     Does  any  man  alive  V 

The  secretary  drooped  his  head  with  an 
expression  of  perfect  acquiescence  in  any- 
thing that  had  been  said  or  might  be  ;  and 
Lord  George  gradually  sinking  down  upon 
his  pillow,  fell  asleep. 

Although  there  was  something  very 
ludicrous  in  his  vehement  manner,  taken 
in  conjunction  with  his  meagre  aspect  and 
ungraceful  presence,  it  would  scarcely 
have  provoked  a  smile  in  any  man  of  kind- 


ly feeling ;  or  even  if  it  had,  he  would 
have  felt  sorry  and  almost  angry  with  him- 
self next  moment,  for  yielding  to  the  im- 
pulse. This  lord  was  sincere  in  his  vio- 
lence and  in  his  wavering.  A  nature 
prone  to  false  enthusiasm,  and  the  vanity 
of  being  a  leader,  were  the  worst  qualities 
apparent  in  his  composition.  All  the  rest 
was  weakness — sheer  weakness;  and  it  is 
the  unhappy  lot  of  thoroughly  weak  men, 
that  their  very  sympathies,  affections,  con- 
fidences— all  the  qualities  which  in  belter 
constituted  minds  are  virtues — dwindle  into 
foibles,  or  turn  into  downright  vices. 

Gashford,  witii  many  a  sly  look  towards 
the  bed,  sat  chuckling  at  his  master's  folly, 
until  his  deep  and  heavy  breathing  warned 
him  that  he  might  retire.  Locking  his 
desk,  and  replacing  it  within  the  trunk 
(but  not  before  he  had  taken  from  a  secret 
lining  two  printed  handbills)  he  cautiously 
withdrew  ;  looking  back,  as  he  went,  at  the 
pale  face  of  the  slumbering  man,  above 
whose  head  the  dusty  plumes  that  crowned 
the  Maypole  couch,  waved  drearily  and 
sadly  as  though  it  were  a  bier. 

Stopping  on  the  staircase  to  listen  that 
all  was  quiet,  and  to  take  off"  his  shoes  lest 
his  footsteps  should  alarm  any  light  sleeper 
who  might  be  near  at  hand,  he  descended 
to  the  ground  floor,  and  thrust  one  of  his 
bills  beneath  the  great  door  of  the  house. 
That  done,  he  crept  softly  back  to  his  own 
chamber,  and  from  the  window  let  another 
fall  —  carefully  wrapped  round  a  stone  to 
save  it  from  the  wind — into  the  yard  below. 

They  were  addressed  on  the  back  "  To 
every  Protestant  into  whose  hands  this 
shall  come,"  and  bore  within,  what  fol- 
lows: 

"  Men  and  Brethren.  Whoever  shall 
find  this  letter,  will  take  it  as  a  warning  to 
join,  without  delay,  the  friends  of  Lord 
George  Gordon.  There  are  great  events 
at  hand ;  and  the  times  are  dangerous  and 
troubled.  Read  this  carefully,  keep  it 
clean,  and  drop  it  somewhere  else.  For 
King  and  Country.     Union." 

"  More  seed,  more  seed,"  said  Gashford 
as  he  closed  the  window.  "  When  will 
the  harvest  come !" 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


157 


CHAPTER  THE  TEHRTY-SEVENTH. 


To  surround  anything,  however  mon- 
Btrous  or  ridiculous,  with  an  air  of  mystery, 
is  to  invest  it  with  a  secret  cliarni,  and 
power  of  attraction  which  to  the  crowd  is 
irresistible.  False  priests,  false  prophets, 
false  doctors,  false  patriots,  false  prodigies 
af  every  kind,  veiling  their  proceedings  in 
mystery,  have  always  addressed  themselves 
at  an  immense  advantage  to  the  popular 
credulity,  and  have  been,  perhaps,  more 
indebted  to  that  resource  in  gainintr  and 
keeping  for  a  time  the  upper  hand  of  Truth 
and  Common  Sense,  than  to  any  half-dozen 
items  in  the  whole  catalogue  of  imposture. 
Curiosity  is,  and  has  been  from  the  creation 
of  the  world,  a  master-passion.  To  awaken 
it,  to  gratify  it  by  slight  degrees,  and  yet 
leave  something  always  in  suspense,  is  to 
establish  the  surest  hold  that  can  be  had, 
in  wrong,  on  the  unthinking  portion  of 
mankind. 

If  a  man  had  stood  on  London  Bridge, 
calling  till  he  was  hoarse,  upon  the  passers- 
by,  to  join  with  Lord  George  Gordon,  al- 
though for  an  object  which  no  man  under- 
stood, and  which  in  that  very  incident  had 
a  charm  of  its  own,  —  the  probability  is, 
that  he  might  have  influenced  a  score  of 
people  in  a  month.  If  all  zealous  Protes- 
tants had  been  publicly  urged  to  join  an 
association  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  sing- 
ing a  hymn  or  two  occasionally,  and  hear- 
ing some  indifferent  speeches  made,  and 
ultimately  of  petitioning  Parliament  not  to 
pass  an  act  for  abolishing  the  penal  laws 
against  Roman  Catholic  priests,  the  penal- 
ty of  perpetual  imprisonment  denounced 
against  those  who  educated  children  in  that 
persuasion,  and  the  disqualification  of  all 
members  of  the  Romish  church  to  inherit 
real  property  in  the  United  Kingdom  by 
right  of  purchase  or  descent,  —  matters  so 
far  removed  from  the  business  and  bosoms 
of  the  mass,  might  perhaps  have  called 
together  a  hundred  people.  But  when 
vague  rumours  got  abroad,  that  in  this  Pro- 
testant association  a  secret  power  was  mus- 
tering against  the  government  for  unde- 
fined and  mighty  purposes;  when  the  air 
was  filled  with  whispers  of  a  confederacy 
among  the  Popish  powers  to  degrade  and 
enslave  England,  establish  an  inquisition  in 
London,  and  turn  the  pens  of  Smithfield 
market  into  stakes  and  cauldrons;  when 
terrors  and  alarms  which  no  man  under- 
stood were  perpetually  broached,  both  in 
and  out  of  Parliament,  by  one  enthusiast 
who  did  not  understand  himself,  and  by- 
gone bugbears  which  had  lain  quietly  in 
their  graves  for  centuries,  were  raised 
again  to  haunt  the  ignorant  and  credulous  ; 
when  all  this  was  done,  as  it  were,  in  the 


dark,  and  secret  invitations  to  join  the 
Great  Protestant  Association  in  defence  of 
religion,  life,  and  liberty,  were  dropped  in 
the  public  ways,  thrust  under  the  house- 
doors,  tossed  in  at  windows,  and  pressed 
into  the  hands  of  those  who  trod  the  streets 
by  night;  when  they  glared  from  every 
wall,  and  shone  on  every  post  and  pillar,  so 
that  stocks  and  stones  appeared  infected 
with  the  common  fear,  urginfr  all  men  to 
join  together  blindfold  in  resistance  of  they 
knew  not  what,  they  knew  not  why  ; — then 
the  mania  spread  indeed,  and  the  body, 
still  increasing  every  day,  grew  forty  thou- 
sand strong. 

So  said,  at  least,  in  this  month  of  March, 
1780,  Lord  George  Gordon,  the  associa- 
tion's president.  Whether  it  was  the  fact 
or  otherwise,  few  men  knew,  or  cared  to 
ascertain.  It  had  never  made  any  public 
demonstration;  had  scarcely  ever  been 
heard  of,  save  through  him ;  had  never 
been  seen;  and  was  supposed  by  many  to 
be  the  mere  creature  of  his  disordered 
brain.  He  was  accustomed  to  talk  largely 
about  numbers  of  men  —  stimulated,  as  it 
was  inferred,  by  certain  successful  disturb- 
ances, arising  out  of  the  same  subject,  which 
had  occurred  in  Scotland  in  the  previous 
year;  was  looked  upon  as  a  cracked-brained 
member  of  the  lower  house,  who  attacked 
all  parties  and  sided  with  none,  and  was 
very  little  regarded.  It  was  known  that 
there  was  discontent  abroad — there  alwaya 
is ;  he  had  been  accustomed  to  address  the 
people  by  placard,  speech,  and  pamphlet, 
upon  other  questions;  nothing  had  come, 
in  England,  of  his  past  exertions,  and  no- 
thing was  apprehended  from  his  present. 
Just  as  he  has  come  upon  the  reader,  he 
had  come,  from  time  to  time,  upon  the 
public,  and  been  forgotten  in  a  day;  as 
suddenly  as  he  appears  in  these  pages, 
after  a  blank  of  five  long  years,  did  he  and 
his  proceedings  begin  to  force  themselves, 
about  this  period,  upon  the  notice  of  thou- 
sands of  people,  who  had  mingled  in  active 
life  durinfic  the  whole  interval,  and  who, 
without  being  deaf  or  blind  to  passing 
events,  had  scarcely  ever  thought  of  him 
before. 

"  My  lord,"  said  Gashford  in  his  ear,  aa 
he  drew  the  curtains  of  his  bed  betimes 
"  mv  lord !" 

*>" Yes  —  who 's  that  1    What  is  it  ] 

"  The  clock  has  struck  nine,"  returned 
the  secretary,  with  meekly-folded  hands. 
"You  have  slept  well]  I  hope  you  have 
slept  well?  If  my  prayers  are  heard,  you 
are  refreshed  indeed." 

"  To  say  the  truth,  I  have  slept  so  sound 
ly,"  said  Lord  George,  rubbing  his  eyea 


158 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


and  looking  round  the  room,  "  that  I  don't 
remember  quite — what  place  is  this!" 

"  My  lord  !"  cried  Gashford,  with  a  smile. 

"  O !"  returned  his  superior.  "  Yes. 
You're  not  a  Jew  then  1" 

"  A  Jew !"  exclaimed  the  pious  secre- 
tary, recoiling. 

"I  dreamed  that  we  were  Jews,  Gash- 
ford.  You  and  I — both  of  us — Jews  with 
long  beards." 

"  Heaven  forbid,  my  lord  !  We  might  as 
well  bo  Papists." 

"I  suppose  we  might,"  returned  the 
other,  very  quickly.  "Ehl  You  really 
think  so,  Gashford]" 

"Surely  1  do,"  the  secretary  cried,  with 
looks  of  great  surprise. 

"Huniph!"  he  muttered.  "Yes,  that 
seems  reasonable." 

"  I  hope,  my  lord — "  the  secretary  began. 

"Mope!"  he  echoed,  interrupting  him. 
"  Why  do  you  say,  you  hope  ]  There 's  no 
harm  in  thinking  of  such  things." 

"  Not  in  dreams,"  returned  the  secretary. 

"  In  dreams  !     No,  nor  wakins;  either." 

— "'Called,  and  chosen,  and  faithful,'" 
said  Gashford,  taking  up  Lord  George's 
watch,  vviiich  lay  upon  a  chair,  and  seem- 
ing to  read  the  inscription  on  the  seal,  ab- 
stractedly. 

It  was  the  slightest  action  possible,  not 
Dbtruded  on  his  notice,  and  apparently  the 
result  of  a  moment's  absence  of  mind,  not 
worth  remark.  But  as  the  words  were  ut- 
tered. Lord  George,  who  had  been  going 
on  impetuously,  stopped  short,  reddened, 
and  was  silent.  Apparently  quite  uncon- 
scious of  this  change  in  his  demeanour,  the 
wily  secretary  stepped  a  little  apart,  under 
pretence  of  pulling  up  the  window-blind, 
and  returning,  when  the  other  had  had 
time  to  recover,  said  : 

"  The  holy  cause  goes  bravely  on,  my 
lord.  I  was  not  idle,  even  last  night.  I 
dropped  two  of  the  hand-bills  before  I  went 
to  bed,  and  both  are  gone  this  morning. 
Nobody  in  the  house  has  mentioned  the 
circumstance  of  finding  them,  though  I 
have  been  down  stairs  full  halfan-hour. 
One  or  two  recruits  will  be  their  first  fruit, 
I  predict ;  and  who  sliall  say  how  many 
more,  with  Heaven's  blessing  on  your  in- 
spired exertions !" 

"  It  was  a  famous  device  in  the  begin- 
ning," replied  Lord  George;  "an  excellent 
device,  and  did  good  service  in  Scotland. 
It  was  quite  worthy  of  you.  You  remind 
me  not  to  be  a  slusrsard,  Gashford,  when 
the  vineyard  is  menaced  with  destruction, 
and  may  be  trodden  down  by  papist  feet. 
],et  the  horses  be  saddled  in  half-an-hour. 
We  must  be  up  and  doing !" 

He  said  this  with  a  heightened  colour, 
und  in  a  tone  of  such  enthusiasm,  that  the 


secretary  deemed  all  further  prompting 
needless,  and  withdrew. 

— "  Dreamed  he  was  a  Jew,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully,  as  he  closed  the  bedroom 
door.  "  He  may  come  to  that  before  he 
dies.  It's  like  enough.  Well!  After  a 
time,  and  provided  I  lost  nothing  by  it,  I 
don't  see  why  that  religion  shouldn't  suit 
me  as  well  as  any  other.  There  are  rich 
men  among  the  Jews;  shaving  is  very  trou- 
blesome ;  —  yes,  it  would  suit  me  well 
enough.  For  the  present,  though,  we  must 
be  Christian  to  the  core.  Our  prophetic 
motto  will  suit  all  creeds  in  their  turn, 
that 's  a  comfort."  Reflecting  on  this  source 
of  consolation,  he  reached  the  sitting-room, 
and  rang  the  bell  for  breakfast. 

Lord  George  was  quickly  dressed  (for 
his  plain  toilet  was  easily  made),  and  as  he 
was  no  less  frugal  in  his  repasts  than  in  hia 
Puritan  attire,  his  share  of  the  meal  was 
soon  despatched.  The  secretary,  however, 
more  devoted  to  the  good  things  of  this 
world,  or  more  intent  on  sustaining  hia 
strength  and  spirits  for  the  sake  of  the  Pro- 
testant cause,  ate  and  drank  to  the  last 
minute,  and  required  indeed  some  three  or 
four  reminders  from  John  Grueby,  before 
he  could  resolve  to  tear  himself  away  from 
Mr.  Willet's  plentiful  providing. 

At  length  he  came  down  stairs,  wiping 
his  greasy  mouth,  and  having  paid  John 
Willet's  bill,  climlDed  into  his  saddle.  Lord 
George,  who  had  been  walking  up  and 
down  before  the  house,  talking  to  himself 
with  earnest  gestures,  mounted  his  horse  ; 
and  returning  old  John  Willet's  stately 
bow,  as  well  as  the  parting  salutation  of  a 
dozen  idlers  whom  the  rumour  of  a  live 
lord  being  about  to  leave  the  Maypole  had 
gathered  round  the  porch,  they  rode  iwmt 
with  stout  John  Grueby  in  *he  rear. 

If  Lord  George  Gordon  had  appeared  in 
the  eyes  of  Mr.  Willet  over-night,  a  noble- 
man of  somewhat  quaint  and  odd  exterior, 
the  impression  was  confirmed  this  morning, 
and  increased  a  hundred  fold.  Sitting  bolt 
upright  upon  his  bony  steed,  with  his  long, 
straight  hair,  dangling  about  his  face  and 
fluttering  in  the  wind ;  his  limbs  all  angu- 
lar and  rigid,  his  elbows  stuck  out  on  either 
side  ungracefully,  and  his  whole  frame  jog- 
ged and  shaken  at  every  motion  of  his 
horse's  feet;  a  more  grotesque  or  more  un- 
gainly figure  can  hardly  be  conceived.  In 
lieu  of  whip,  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  great 
gold-headed  cane,  as  large  as  any  footman 
carries  in  these  days;  and  his  various  modes 
of  holding  this  unwieldy  weapon — now  up- 
right before  his  face  like  the  sabre  of  a  horse- 
soldier,  now  over  his  shoulder  like  a  mus- 
ket, now  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  but 
always  in  some  uncouth  and  awkward  fash 
ion — contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  iha 


BARNABY   RUDGE 


159 


absurdity  of  his  appearance.  Stiff,  lank, 
and  solemn,  dressed  in  an  unusual  manner, 
and  ostentatiously  exhibiting — whether  by 
design  or  accident — all  his  peculiarities  of 
carriage,  gesture,  and  conduct;  all  the 
qualities,  natural  and  artificial,  in  which  he 
differed  from  other  men;  he  might  have 
moved  the  sternest  looker-on  to  laughter, 
and  fully  provoked  the  smiles  and  wiiisper- 
ed  jests  which  greeted  his  departure  from 
the  Maypole  inn. 

Quite  unconscious,  however,  of  the  ef- 
fect he  produced,  he  trotted  on  beside  his 
secretary,  talking  to  himself  nearly  all  the 
way,  until  they  came  within  a  mile  or  two 
of  London,  when  now  and  then  some  pas- 
senger went  by  who  knew  him  by  sight, 
and  pointed  him  out  to  some  one  else,  and 
perhaps  stood  looking  after  him,  or  cried  in 
jest  or  earnest  as  it  might  be,  "Hurrah, 
Geordie  !  No  Popery  !"  At  which  he  would 
gravely  pull  off  his  hat,  and  bow.  When 
they  reached  the  town  and  rode  along  the 
streets,  these  notices  became  more  frequent; 
some  laughed,  some  hissed,  some  turned  their 
heads  and  smiled,  some  wondered  who  he 
was,  some  ran  along  the  pavement  by  his  side 
and  cheered.  When  this  happened  in  a  crush 
of  carts  and  chairs  and  coaches,  he  would 
make  a  dead  stop,  and  pulling  off  his  hat 
£ry  "Gentlemen,  No  Popery!"  to  which 
the  gentlemen  would  respond  with  lusty 
voices,  and  with  three  times  three ;  and 
then,  on  he  would  go  again  with  a  score  or 
60  of  the  raggedest  following  at  his  horse's 
heels,  and  shouting  till  their  throats  were 
parched. 

The  old  ladies  too — there  were  a  great 
many  old  ladies  in  the  streets,  and  these  all 
knew  him.  Some  of  them — not  those  of 
the  highest  rank,  but  such  as  sold  fruit  from 
baskets  and  carried  burdens — clapped  their 
shrivelled  hands,  and  raised  a  weazen,  pip- 
ing, shrill  "  Hurrah,  my  Lord."  Others 
waved  their  hands,  or  handkerchiefs,  or 
shook  their  fans  or  parasols,  or  threw  up 
windows  and  called  in  haste  to  those  with- 
in, to  come  and  see.  All  these  marks  of 
popular  esteem,  he  received  with  profound 
gravity  and  respect ;  bowing  very  low,  and 
so  frequently  that  his  hat  was  more  off  his 
head  than  on  ;  and  lookinor  up  at  the  houses 
as  he  passed  along,  with  the  air  of  one  who 
was  making  a  public  entry,  and  yet  was 
not  puffed-up  or  proud. 

So  they  rode  (to  the  deep  and  unspeaka- 
ble disgust  of  John  Grueby)  the  whole 
length  of  Whitechapel,  Leadenhall-street, 
and  Cheapside,  and  into  Saint  Paul's 
Churchyard.  Arriving  close  to  the  cathe- 
dral, he  halted  ;  spoke  to  Gashford  ;  and 
looking  upward  at  its  lofty  dome,  shook  his 
head,  as  though  he  said  "The  Church  in 
.nang'T!"  Then  to  be  sure,  the  bystanders 
stretched  their  throats  indeed ;  and  he  went 


on  again  with  mighty  acclamations  from 
the  mob,  and  lower  bows  than  ever. 

So  along  tlie  Strand,  up  Swallow-street, 
into  O.xford-road,  and  thence  to  his  house 
in  Welbeck-strect,  near  Cavendish-square, 
whither  he  was  attended  by  a  few  dozen 
idlers ;  of  whom  he  took  leave  on  the  steps 
with  this  brief  parting,  "Gentlemen,  No 
Popery.  Good  day.  God  bless  you."  This 
being  rather  a  shorter  address  than  they 
expected,  was  received  with  some  displea- 
sure, and  cries  of  "  A  speech  !  a  speech  !" 
which  might  have  been  compliejd  with,  but 
that  John  Grueby,  making  a  mad  charge 
upon  them  with  all  three  horses,  on  his  way 
to  the  stables,  caused  them  to  disperse  into 
the  adjoining  fields,  where  they  presently 
fell  to  pitch  and  toss,  chuck-tarthing,  odd 
or  even,  dog-fighting,  and  other  Protestant 
recreations. 

In  the  afternoon  Lord  George  came  forth 
again,  dressed  in  a  black  vefvet  coat,  and 
trousers  and  wai.«tcoat  of  the  Gordon  plaid, 
all  of  the  same  Quaker  cut;  and  in  this 
costume,  which  made  him  look  a  dozen 
times  more  strange  and  singular  than  be- 
fore, went  down  on  f(X)t  to  Westminster. 
Gashford,  meanwhile,  bestirred  himself  in 
business  matters;  with  which  he  was  still 
engaged  when,  shortly  after  dusk,  John 
Grueby  entered  and  announced  a  visiter. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  Gashford. 

"  Here !  come  in !"  growled  John  to 
somebody  without;  "You're  a  Protestant, 
an't  you  !" 

"/should  think  so,"  replied  a  deep,  gruff 
voice. 

"  You  've  the  looks  of  it,"  said  John  Grue- 
by. "I'd  have  known  you  for  one,  any- 
where." With  which  remark  he  gave  the 
visiter  admission,  retired,  and  shut  the  door. 

The  man  who  now  confronted  Gashford, 
was  a  squat,  thickset  personage,  with  a  low 
retreating  forehead,  a  coarse  snock  head 
of  hair,  and  eyes  so  small  and  near  together, 
that  his  broken  nose  alone  seemed  to  pre- 
vent their  meeting  and  fusing  into  one  of 
the  usual  size.  A  dingy  handkerchief 
twisted  like  a  cord  about  his  neck,  left  its 
great  veins  exposed  to  view,  and  they  were 
svvoln  and  starting,  as  though  with  gulping 
down  strong  passions,  malice,  and  iil-will. 
His  dress  was  of  threadbare  velveteen — a 
faded,  rusty,  whitened  black,  like  the  ashes 
of  a  pipe  or  a  coal  fire  after  a  day's  extinc- 
tion; discoloured  with  the  soils  of  many  a 
stale  debauch,  and  recking  yet  with  pot- 
house odours.  In  lieu  of  buckles  at  his 
knees,  he  wore  unequal  loops  of  pack- 
thread ;  and  in  his  grimy  hands  he  held  a 
knotted  stick,  the  knob  of  wliich  was  carved 
into  a  rough  likeness  of  his  own  vile  face. 
Such  was  the  visiter  who  doffed  his  three- 
cornered  hat  in  Gashford's  presence,  and 
waited,  leering,  for  his  notice. 


160 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"Ah!  Dennis!"  cried  the  secretary. 
"Sit  down." 

"  I  spe  my  lord  down  yonder — "  cried 
the  man,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  towards 
the  quarter  that  he  spoke  of,  "  and  he  says 
to  me,  says  my  lord,  'If  you've  nothing  to 
do,  Dennis,  jro  up  to  my  house  and  talk 
with  Muster  Gishford.'  Of  course  1  'd 
nothin;^  to  do,  you  know.  These  an't  my 
working  hours.  Ha  ha !  I  was  a  taking 
the  air  when  I  see  my  lord,  that's  what  I 
was  doing.  I  takes  the  air  by  night,  as  the 
howls  does.  Muster  Gashfbrd." 

"  And  sometimes  in  the  day-time,  eh  ?" 
said  the  secretary — "  when  you  go  out  in 
state,  you  know." 

"Ha  ha  !"  roared  the  fellow,  smiting  his 
leg ;  "  for  a  gentleman  as  'uU  say  a  plea- 
sant thing  in  a  pleasant  way,  give  me 
Muster  Gashford  agin'  all  London  and 
Westminster !  My  lord  an't  a  bad  'un  at 
that,  but  he 's  a  fool  to  you.  Ah  to  be  sure, 
— when  I  go  out  in  state." 

"And  have  your  carriage,"  said  the 
secretary  ;  "  and  your  chaplain,  eh  ]  and 
all  the  rest  of  it?" 

"  You  '11  be  the  death  of  me,"  cried  Den- 
nis with  another  roar,  "you  will.  But 
what's  in  the  wind  now,  Muster  Gashford," 
he  asked  hoarsely,  "  Eh '.'  Are  we  to  be 
under  orders  to  pull  down  one  of  them  Po- 
pish chapels — or  what "?" 

"Hush!"  said  the  secretary,  suffering 
the  faintest  smile  to  play  upon  his  face. 
"Hush  !  God  bless  me,  Dennis!  We  asso- 
ciate, you  know,  for  strictly  peaceable  and 
lawful  purposes." 

"  I  know,  bless  you,"  returned  the  man, 
thrusting  his  tongue  info  his  cheek  ;  "  I 
entered  a'  purpose,  didn't  I !" 

"No  doubt,"  said  G^ishford,  smiling  as 
before.  And  when  he  said  so,  Dennis 
roared  acain,  and  smote  his  leg  still  harder, 
and  falling  into  fits  of  laughter,  wiped  his 
eyes  with  the  corner  of  his  neckerchief, 
and  cried  "  Muster  Gashford  again  all  Eng- 
land— hollow!" 

"  Lord  George  and  T  were  talking  of  you 
last  night,"  said  Gashford,  after  a  pause. 
"  He  says  you  are  a  very  earnest  fellow." 

"  So  I  am,"  returned  the  hangman. 

"  And  that  you  truly  hate  the  Papists." 

"  So  I  do,"  and  he  confirmed  it  with  a 
good  round  oath.  "  Lookye  here,  Muster 
Gashford,"  said  the  fellow,  laying  his  hat 
and  stick  upon  the  floor,  and  slowly  beat- 
ing the  palm  of  one  hand  with  the  finirers 
of  the  other;  "  Ob-sorve.  I 'm  a  constitu- 
tional officer  that  works  for  my  living,  and 
does  my  work  creditable.  Do  I,  or  do  I 
notr' 

"Unquestionably." 

"  Very  ffood.  Stop  a  minute.  My  work, 
IS  sound,  Protestant,  constitutional,  English 
work.    Is  it,  or  is  i*.  not  r 


"  No  man  alive  can  doubt  it." 

"Nor  dead  neither.  Parliament  sayg 
this  here  —  says  Parliament  » If  any  man, 
woman,  or  child,  does  anything  which  goes 
again  a  certain  number  of  our  acts' — how 
many  hanging  laws  may  there  be  at  this 
present  time,  Muster  Gashford  ]  Fifty?" 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  how  many,"  re- 
plied Gashford,  leaning  back  in  his  chair 
and  yawning;  "a  great  number  though." 

"Well;  say  fifty.  Parliament  says 'If 
any  man,  woman,  or  child,  docs  anything 
again  any  one  of  them  fifty  acts,  that  man, 
woman,  or  child,  shall  be  worked  ofl^  by 
Dennis.'  George  the  Third  steps  in  when 
they  number  very  strong  at  the  end  of  a 
sessions,  and  says  '  These  are  too  many  for 
Dennis.  I'll  have  half  for  myse]i'  and 
Dennis  shall  have  half  for  /r/mself;'  and 
sometimes  he  throws  me  in  one  over  that  I 
don't  expect,  as  he  did  three  year  ago, 
when  I  got  Mary  Jones,  a  young  woman 
of  nineteen  who  come  up  to  Tyburn  with  a 
infant  at  her  breast,  and  was  worked  oft" for 
taking  a  piece  of  cloth  off"  the  counter  of  a 
shop  in  Ludgate-hill,  and  putting  it  down 
again  when  the  shopman  see  her ;  and  who 
had  never  done  any  harm  before,  and  only 
tried  to  do  that,  in  consequence  of  her 
husband  having  been  pressed  three  weeks 
previous,  and  she  being  left  to  beg,  with 
two  young  children — as  was  proved  upon 
the  tVial.  Ha  ha  !— Well !  That  being  the 
law  and  the  practice  of  England,  is  the 
glory  of  England,  an't  it  Muster  Gashford  1" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  secretary. 

"And  in  times  to  come,"  pursued  tha 
hangman,  "  if  our  grandsons  should  think 
of  their  grandfathers'  times,  and  find  these 
things  altered,  they'll  say  'Those  were 
days  indeed,  and  we've  been  going  down 
iiill  ever  since.' — Won't  they.  Muster  Gash- 
ford 1" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  will,"  said  the 
secretary. 

"  Weil  then,  look  here,"  said  the  hang- 
man. "If  these  papists  gets  into  power, 
and  begins  to  boil  and  roast  instead  of  hang, 
what  becomes  of  my  work  !  If  they  touch 
my  work  that's  a  part  of  so  many  laws, 
what  becomes  of  the  laws  in  general,  what 
becomes  of  the  religion,  what  becomes  of 
the  country  ? — Did  you  ever  go  to  church, 
Muster  Gashford  !" 

"  Ever !"  repeated  the  secretary  with 
some  indignation;  "of course." 

"Well,"  said  the  ruffian,  "I've  beer 
once  —  twice,  counting  the  time  I  was. 
christened — and  when  I  heard  the  Parlia 
ment  prayed  lor,  and  thought  how  man}^ 
new  hanging  laws  they  made  every  sessions. 
I  considered  that  I  was  prayed  for.  Now 
mind.  Muster  Gashford,"  said  the  fellow, 
taking  up  his  stick  and  shaking  it  with  a 
ferocious  air,  "I  mustn't  have  my  Pro 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


161 


testant  work  toiirlipd,  nor  this  here  Pro 
testant  ?tato  ot'tliiiiir-s  altered  in  noderrree,  [ 
if  I  can  help  it;  I  niustiri  have  no  Papists  1 
interfering  with  me,  unless  they  come  to  1 
me  to  be  worked  off  in  course  of  law ;  I 
mustn't  have  no  biling,  no  roasting,  no  fry- 
ing— nothing  but  hanging.  My  lord  may 
well  call  me  an  earnest  fellow.  In  support 
of  the  great  Protestant  principle  of  having 
plenty  of  that,  I'll,"  and  here  he  beat  \ns 
club  "upon  the  ground,  "burn,  fight,  kill — 
do  anything  you  bid  me,  so  that  it's  bold 
and  devilish  —  though  the  end  of  it  was, 
that  I  got  hung  myself.  —  There,  Muster 
Gashford  !" 

He  appropriately  followed  up  this  fre- 
quent prostitution  of  a  noble  word  to  tlie 
vilest  purposes,  by  pouring  out  in  a  kind  of 
ecstasy,  at  least  a  score  of  most  tremendous 
oaths;  then  wiped  his  heated  face  upon  his 
neckerchief,  and  cried,  "No  Popery  !  I'm 
a  relirrious  man.  by  G — !" 

Gashford  had  leant  back  in  his  chair,  re- 
garding him  with  eyes  so  sunken,  and  so 
shadowed  by  his  heavy  brows,  that  for 
aught  the  hangman  saw  of  them,  he  mi^ht 
have  been  stone  blind.  IJe  remained  smil- 
ing in  silence  for  a  short  time  longer,  and 
then  said,  slowly  and  distinctly: 

"  You  are  indeed  an  earnest  fellow,  Den- 
nis— a  most  valuable  fellow — the  staunciiest 
man  I  know  of  in  our  ranks.    But  you  must 


calm  yourself;  you  must  be  peaceiul,  law 
ful,  mild  as  any  lamb.  I  am  sure  you  will 
be  though." 

"Ay,  ay,  we  shall  sec.  Muster  Gashford, 
we  shall  see.  You  won't  have  to  complain 
of  me,"  returned  the  other,  shaking  hia 
head. 

"I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  said  the  secre- 
tary in  the  same  mild  tone,  and  with  the 
SMme  emphasis.  "  We  shall  have,  we  think, 
about  next  month,  or  May,  when  this  Pa- 
pist relief  bill  comes  betore  the  house,  to 
convene  our  whole  body  tijr  the  first  time. 
My  lord  has  thoughts  of  our  walking  in 
procession  through  the  streets — ^just  as  an 
innocent  display  of  strength — and  accom- 
panying our  petition  down  to  the  door  of 
the  House  of  Commons." 

'•  The  sooner,  the  better,"  said  Dennis, 
with  another  oath. 

"  We  shall  have  to  draw  up  in  divisions, 
our  numbers  being  so  large;  and,  I  believe 
I  may  venture  to  say,"  resumed  Gashtord, 
affecting  not  to  hear  the  interruption, 
"thouirii  I  have  no  direct  instructions  to 
that  etli'ct — that  Lord  George  has  thought 
of  you  as  an  excellent  leader  for  one  of 
these  parties.  I  have  no  doubt  you  would 
be  an  admirable  one." 

"  Try  me,"  said  the  fellow,  u  ith  an  ugly 
wink. 

"  You  would  be  cool,  1  know,"  pursued 


■"^mi 


162 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


the  secretary,  still  smiling',  and  still  man- 
aging  his  eyes  so  that  he  could  watch  him 
closely,  and  really  not  be  seen  in  turn, 
"obedient  to  orders,  and  perfectly  tem- 
perate. You  would  lead  your  party  into  no 
danger,  I  am  certain." 

"  1  'd  lead  them.  Muster  Gashford" — the 
hangman  was  beginning  in  a  reckless  way, 
when  Gashford  started  forward,  laid  his 
finger  on  his  lips,  and  feigned  to  write,  just 
as  the  door  was  opened  by  John  Grueby. 


"Oh!"  said  John,  looking  in;  "here's 
another  Protestant." 

"Some  other  room,  John,"  cried  Gash- 
ford in  his  blandest  voice.  "  I  am  engaged 
just  now." 

But  John  had  brought  this  new  visiter  to 
the  door,  and  he  walked  in  unbidden,  as 
the  words  were  uttered ;  giving  to  view 
the  form  and  features,  rough  attire,  and 
reckless  air,  of  Hugh. 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-EIGHTH. 


The  secretary  put  his  hand  before  his 
eyes  to  shade  them  from  the  glare  of  the 
lamp,  and  for  some  moments  looked  at 
Hugh  with  a  frowning  brow,  as  if  he  re- 
membered to  have  seen  him  lately,  but 
could  not  call  to  mind  where,  or  on  what 
occasion.  His  uncertainty  was  very  brief, 
for  before  Hugh  had  spoken  a  word,  he 
said,  as  his  countenance  cleared  up: 

"Ay,  ay,  I  recollect.  It's  quite  right, 
John,  you  needn't  wait.  Don't  go,  Den- 
nis." 

"  Your  servant,  master,"  said  Hugh,  as 
Grueby  disappeared. 

"  Your's,  friend,"  returned  the  secretary 
in  his  smoothest  manner.  "  What  brings 
you  here]  We  left  nothing  behind  us,  I 
hope "!" 

Hugh  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  thrusting 
his  hand  into  his  breast,  produced  one  of 
the  handbills,  soiled  and  dirty  from  lying 
out  of  doors  all  night,  which  he  laid  upon 
the  secretary's  desk  after  flattening  it  upon 
his  knee,  and  smoothing  out  the  wrinkles 
with  his  heavy  palm. 

"Nothing  but  that,  master.  It  fell  into 
good  hands,  you  see." 

"What  is  this!"  said  Gashford,  turning 
it  over  with  an  air  of  perfectly  natural  sur- 
prise. "Where  did  you  get  it  from,  my 
good  fellow;  what  does  it  mean?  I  don't 
understand  this  at  all." 

A  little  disconcerted  by  this  reception, 
Hugh  looked  from  the  secretary  to  Dennis, 
who  had  risen  and  was  standing  at  the  ta- 
ble, too,  observins-  the  stranger  by  stealth, 
ind  seeming  to  derive  the  utmost  satisfac- 
tion from  his  manners  and  appearance. 
Considf^rino-  himsolf  silently  appealed  to 
by  this  action,  Mr.  Dennis  shook  his  head 
thrice,  as  if  to  say  of  Gashford,  "  No.  He 
don't  know  nnything-  at  all  about  it.  I 
know  he  don't.  I'll  take  my  oath  he 
don't;"  and  hiding  his  profile  from  Hugh 
with  one  long  end  of  his  frowzy  necker- 
chief, nodded  and  chuckled  behind  this 
screen  in  extreme  approval  of  the  secreta- 
ry's proceedings. 


"  It  tells  the  man  that  finds  it,  to  come 
here,  don't  it  1"  asked  Hugh,  "  I  'm  no 
scholar,  myself,  but  I  showed  it  to  a  friend, 
and  he  said  it  did." 

"  It  certainly  does,"  said  Gashford,  open- 
ing his  eyes  to  their  utmost  width ;  "  really 
this  is  the  most  remarkable  circumstance  I 
have  ever  known.  How  did  you  come  by 
this  piece  of  paper,  my  good  friend  1" 

"  Muster  Gashford,"  wheezed  the  hang- 
man under  his  breath,  "agin  all  New- 
gate !" 

Whether  Hugh  heard  him,  or  saw  by 
his  manner  that  he  was  being  played  upon, 
or  perceived  the  secretary's  drift  of  him- 
self, he  came  in  his  blunt  way  to  the  point 
at  once. 

"  Here  !"  he  said,  stretching  out  his  hand 
and  taking  it  back  ;  "  never  mind  the  bill, 
or  what  it  says,  or  what  it  don't  say.  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it,  master, — no 
more  do  I, — no  more  does  he,"  glancing  at 
Dennis.  "None  of  us  know  what  it  means, 
or  where  it  comes  from  :  there 's  an  end  of 
that.  Now,  I  want  to  make  one  against 
the  Catholics,  I'm  a  No-Popery  man,  and 
ready  to  be  sworn  in.  That's  what  I've 
come  here  for." 

"  Put  him  down  on  the  roll.  Muster  Gash- 
ford," said  Dennis,  approvingly.  "That's 
the  way  to  go  to  work — right  to  the  end  at 
once,  and  no  palaver." 

"What's  the  use  of  shooting  wide  of 
the  mark,  eh,  old  boy !"  cried  Hugh. 

"  My  sentiments  all  over  !"  rejoined  the 
hangman.  "This  is  the  sort  of  chap  for 
my  division.  Muster  Gashford.  Down  with 
him,  sir.  Put  him  on  the  roll.  I  'd  stand 
godfhther  to  him,  if  he  was  to  be  christened 
in  a  bonfire,  made  of  the  ruins  of  the  Bank 
of  England." 

With  these  and  other  expressions  of  con- 
fidence of  the  like  flattering  kind,  Mr.  Den- 
nis gave  him  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back, 
which  Hugh  was  not  slow  to  return. 

"  No  Popery,  brother !"  cried  the  hang- 
man. 

"No  Property,  brother !"  responded  Hugh. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


163 


"Popery,  Popery,"  said  the  secretary, 
with  his  usual  mildness. 

"  It's  all  the  same!"  cried  Dennis.  "It's 
all  right.  Down  with  him,  Muster  Gash- 
ford.  Down  with  everybody,  down  with 
everythinjr !  Hurrah  for  the  Protestant  re- 
ligrion!  That's  the  time  of  day,  Muster 
Gashford  !" 

The  secretary  regarded  them  both  with 
a  very  favourable  expression  of  counte- 
nance, while  Ihoy  gave  loose  to  these  and 
other  demonstrations  of  their  patriotic  pur- 
pose ;  and  was  about  to  make  some  remark 
aloud,  when  Dennis,  stepping  up  to  him, 
and  shading  his  mouth  with  his  hand,  said, 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  he  nudged  him  with 
his  elbow: 

"  Don't  split  upon  a  constitutional  offi- 
cer's profession.  Muster  Gashford.  There 
are  popular  prejudices,  you  know,  and  he 
mightn't  like  it.  Wait  till  he  comes  to  be 
more  intimate  with  me.  He's  a  fine-built 
chap,  an't  he]" 

"  A  powerful  fellow,  indeed !" 

"  Did  yon  ever,  Muster  Gashford,"  whis- 
pered Dennis,  with  a  horrible  kind  of  ad- 
miration, such  as  that  with  which  a  canni- 
bal might  regard  his  intimate  friend,  when 
hungry,  —  "did  you  ever"  —  and  here  he 
drew  still  closer  to  his  ear,  and  fenced  his 
mouth  with  both  his  open  hands  —  "see 
such  a  throat  as  hisl  Do  but  cast  your  eye 
upon  it.  There's  a  neck  for  stretching, 
Muster  Gashford  1" 

The  secretary  assented  to  this  proposi- 
tion with  the  best  grace  he  could  assume — 
it  is  difficult  to  feign  a  true  professional  re- 
lish: which  is  eccentric  sometimes — and 
after  asking  the  candidate  a  few  unimport- 
ant questions,  proceeded  to  enrol  him  a 
member  of  the  Great  Protestant  Associa- 
tion of  England.  If  anything  could  have 
exceeded  Mr.  Dennis's  joy  on  the  happy 
conclusion  of  this  ceremony,  it  would  have 
been  the  rapture  with  which  he  received 
the  announcement  that  the  new  member 
could  neither  read  nor  write :  those  two 
arts  being  (as  M  r.  Dennis  swore)  the  greatest 
possible  cursp  a  civilised  community  could 
know,  and  militating  more  against  the  pro- 
fessional emolumpnts  and  usefulness  of  the 
great  constitutional  office  he  had  the  honour 
to  hold,  than  any  adverse  circumstances 
that  could  present  themselves  to  his  ima- 
gination. 

The  enrolment  being  completed,  and 
Hugh  having  been  informed  by  Gashford. 
in  his  peculiar  manner,  of  the  peaceful  and 
strictly  lawful  objects  contemplated  by  the 
body  to  which  he  now  belonged  —  during 
which  recital  Mr.  Dennis  nudged  him  very 
much  with  his  elbow,  and  made  divers  re- 
markable faces — the  secretary  gave  them 
both  to  understand  that  he  desired  to  be 


alone.  Therefore  they  look  their  leaves 
without  delay,  and  came  out  of  the  house 
together. 

"Are  you  walking,  brother  1"  said  Dennis. 
"  Ay  !"   returned  Hugh.     "  Where  you 
will." 

"That's  social,"  said  his  new  friend. 
"Which  way  shall  we  takel  Shall  we  go 
and  have  a  look  at  doors  that  we  shall  make 
a  pretty  good  clattering  at,  before  long^ 
eh,  brother?" 

Hugh  answering  in  the  affirmative,  they 
went  slowly  down  to  Westminster,  where 
both  houses  of  Parliament  were  then  si- 
ting. Mingling  in  the  crowd  of  carriagi 
horses,  servants,  chairmen,  link-boys,  poi- 
ters,  and  idlers  of  all  kinds,  they  I'oungec? 
about ;  while  Hugh's  new  friend  pointed 
out  to  him  significantly  the  weak  parts  of 
the  building,  how  easy  it  was  to  get  into 
the  lobby,  and  so  to  the  very  door  of  the 
House  of  Commons ;  and  how  plainly,  when 
they  marched  down  there  in  grand  array, 
their  roars  and  shouts  would  be  heard  by 
the  members  inside;  with  a  great  deal 
more  to  the  same  purpose,  all  of  which 
Hugh  received  with  manifest  delight. 

He  told  him,  too,  who  some  of  the  Lords 
and  Commons  were,  by  name,  as  they  came 
in  and  out;  whether  they  were  friendly  to 
the  Papists  or  otherwise ;  and  bade  him  take 
notice  of  their  liveries  and  equipages,  that 
he  might  be  sure  of  them,  in  case  of  need. 
Sometimes  he  drew  him  close  to  the  win- 
dows of  a  passing  carriage,  that  he  might 
see  its  master's  face  by  the  light  of  the 
lamps ;  and,  both  in  respect  of  people  and 
localities,  he  showed  so  much  acquaintance 
with  everything  around,  that  it  was  plain 
he  had  often  studied  there  before ;  as  in- 
deed, when  they  grew  a  little  more  confi- 
dential, he  confessed  he  had. 

Perhaps  the  most  striking  part  of  all  this 

was,  the  number  of  people — never  in  groups 

of  more  than  two  or  three  together — who 

seemed  to  be  skulking  about  the  crowd  for 

the  same  purpose.     To  the  greater  part  of 

these,  a  slight  nod  or  a  look  from  Hngh'.-i 

companion   was   sufficient   greeting ;    but, 

now  and  then,  some  man  would  come  and 

stand  beside  him  in  the  throntr,  and  wiili- 

j  out  turning  his  head  or  appearing  to  coin- 

}  municate  with  him,  would  say  a  word  or 

j  two  in  a  low  voice,  which  he  would  answer 

!  in  the  snme  cautious  niiiiinor.     Th"i!  ti'ey 

I  would  part,  like  strangers.     Some  ofthi'se 

I  men  often  reappeared  again  unexpectedly 

in  the  crowd  close  to  Hugh,  and,  as  they 

passed  by,  pressed  his  hand,  or  looked   him 

sternly  in  the  face;  but  they  never  spoke 

:  to  hiin,  nor  lie  to  them;  no,  not  a  word. 

It  was   remarkable,  too,   that  whenes'ei 

they  happened  to  stand  where  there  waa 

any  press  of  people,  and  Hugh  chanced  to 


164 


BARNAB\    RUDGE. 


be  looking-  downward,  he  was  sure  to  see 
an  arm  stretched  out — under  his  own  per- 
haps, or  perhaps  across  him — which  thrust 
some  paper  into  tiie  hand  or  pocket  of  a 
bystander,  and  was  so  suddenly  withdrawn 
that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  from  whom  it 
came;  nor  could  he  see  in  any  face,  on 
glancing  quickly  round,  the  least  confusion 
or  surprise.  They  often  trod  upon  a  paper 
Jke  the  one  he  carried  in  his  breast,  but 
his  companion  whispered  him  not  to  touch 
it  or  to  take  it  up, — not  even  to  look  towards 
it, — so  there  they  let  them  lie,  and  passed  on. 

When  they  had  paraded  the  street  and 
all  the  avenues  of  the  building-  in  this  man- 
ner for  near  two  hours,  tiiey  turned  away, 
pnd  his  friend  asked  him  what  he  thought 
of  what  he  had  seen,  and  whether  he  was 
prepared  for  a  good  hot  piece  of  work  if  it 
should  come  to  that.  "The  hotter  the 
better,"  said  Hugh,  "I'm  prepared  for  any- 
thing"— "So  am  I,"  said  his  friend,  "and 
so  are  many  of  us;"  and  they  siiook  hands 
upon  it  with  a  great  oath,  and  with  many 
terrible  imprecations  on  the  Papists. 

As  they  were  thirsty  by  this  time,  Den- 
nis proposed  that  they  should  repair  to- 
gether to  the  Boot,  where  there  was  good 
company  and  strong  liquor.  Hugh  yielding 
a  ready  assent,  they  bent  their  steps  that 
way  with  no  loss  of  time. 

This  Boot  was  a  lone  house  of  public 


entertainment,  situated  in  the  fields  at  the 
back  of  the  Foundling  Hospital ;  a  very  so- 
litary spot  at  that  period,  and  quite  deserted 
after  dark.  The  tavern  stood  at  some  dis- 
tance from  any  high  road,  and  was  ap- 
proachable only  by  a  dark  and  narrow  lane; 
so  that  Hugh  was  much  surprised  to  hnd 
several  people  drinking  there,  and  great 
merriment  going  on.  He  was  still  more 
surprised  to  find  among  them  almost  every 
face  that  had  caught  his  attention  in  tlie 
crowd ;  but  his  companion  having  whis- 
pered him  outside  the  door,  that  it  was  not 
considered  good  manners  at  the  Boot  to  ap- 
pear at  all  curious  about  the  company,  he 
kept  his  own  counsel,  and  made  no  show 
of  recognition. 

Before  putting  his  lips  to  the  liquor  which 
was  brought  for  them,  Dennis  drank  in  a 
loud  voice  the  health  of  Lord  George  Gor- 
don, President  of  the  Great  Protestant  As- 
sociation ;  which  toast  Hugh  pledged  like- 
wise, with  corresponding  enthusiasm.  A 
fiddler  who  was  present,  and  who  appeared 
to  act  as  the  appointed  minstrel  of  the  com- 
pany, forthwith  struck  up  a  Scotch  reel ; 
and  that  in  tones  so  invigorating,  that  Hugh 
and  his  friend  (who  had  both  been  drinking 
before)  rose  from  their  seats  as  by  previous 
concert,  and,  to  the  great  admiration  of  tne 
assembled  guests,  performed  an  extenipo 
raneous  No-Popery  Dance. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


.66 


CHAPTER  THE  THIRTY-NINTH. 


The  applause  which  the  performance  of 
Hugh  and  his  new  friend  elicited  from  the 
company  at  The  Boot,  had  not  yet  subsided, 
and  the  two  dancers  were  still  panting  from 
their  exertions,  which  had  been  of  a  ratlier 
extreme  and  violent  character,  when  the 
party  was  reinforced  by  the  arrival  of  some 
more  o^uests,  who,  being  a  detachment  of 
United  Bull-Dogs,  were  received  with  very 
tiattering  marks  of  distinction  and  respect. 

The  leader  of  this  small  party — for,  in- 
cluding himself,  they  wore  but  three  in 
number — was  our  old  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Tappertit,  who  seemed,  physically  speak- 
ing, to  have  grown  smaller  with  years  (par- 
ticularly as  to  his  legs,  which  were  stu- 
pendously little),  but  who,  in  a  moral  point 
of  view,  in  personal  dignity  and  self-esteem, 
had  swelled  into  a  giant.  Nor  was  it  by 
any  means  difficult  tor  the  most  unobserv- 
ant person  to  detect  this  state  of  feeling  in 
the  quondam  'Prentice,  for  it  not  only  pro- 
claimed itself  impressively  and  beyond  mis- 
take in  his  majestic  walk  and  kindling  eye, 
nut  found  a  striking  means  of  revelation  in 
lis  turned-up  nose,  which  scouted  all  things 
of  earth  with  deep  disdain,  and  sought  com- 
munion with  its  kindred  skies, 

Mr.  Tappertit,  as  chief  or  captain  of  the 
Bull-Dogs,  was  attended  by  his  two  lieu- 
tenants; one,  the  tall  comrade  of  his  young- 
er life;  the  other,  a  'Prentice  Knight  in 
days  of  yore — Mark  Gilbert,  bound  in  the 
olden  time  to  Thomas  Curzon  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  These  gentlemen,  like  himself, 
were  now  emancipated  from  their  'Prentice 
thraldom,  and  served  as  journeymen;  but 
they  were,  in  humble  emulation  of  his  great 
example,  bold  and  daring  spirits,  and  as- 
pired to  a  distinguished  state  in  great  poli- 
tical events.  Hence  their  connexion  with 
the  Protestant  Association  of  England, 
sanctioned  by  the  name  of  Lord  George 
Gordon ;  and  hence  their  present  visit  to 
The  Boot. 

"  Gentlemen !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  taking 
off  his  hat  as  a  great  General  might  in  ad- 
dressing his  troops.  "  Well  met.  My  Lord 
does  me  and  you  the  honour  to  send  his 
compliments  per  self." 

"  You  've  seen  my  Lord,  too,  have  you  ]" 
said  Dennis,     "/see  him  this  afternoon." 

"My  duty  called  me  to  the  Lobby  when 
our  shop  shut  up;  and  I  saw  him  there, 
sir,"  Mr.  Tappertit  replied,  as  he  and  his 
lieutenants  took  their  seats.  "How  do  you 
doT" 

"  Lively,  master,  livelv,"  said  the  fellow. 
11' 


"  Here's  a  new  brother,  regularly  put  down 
in  black  and  white  by  Muster  Gasliford;  a 
credit  to  the  cause;  one  of  the  stick-at-no- 
thing  sort;  one  arter  my  own  heart.  D'ye 
see  him"!  Has  he  got  the  looks  of  a  man 
that'll  do,  do  you  think?"  he  cried,  as  he 
slapped  Hugh  on  the  back. 

"  Looks  or  no  looks,"  said  Hugh,  with  a 
drunken  flourish  of  his  arm,  "I'm  the  man 
you  want.  I  hate  the  Papists,  every  one 
of  'em.  They  hate  me,  and  I  hate  them. 
They  do  me  all  the  harm  they  can,  and  I  '11 
do  them  all  the  harm  /can.     Hurrah!" 

"  Was  there  ever,"  said  Dennis,  looking 
round  the  room,  when  the  echo  of  his  bois- 
terous voice  had  died  away ;  "  was  there 
ever  such  a  game  boy !  Why,  I  mean  to 
say,  brothers,  that  if  Muster  Gashford  had 
gone  a  hundred  mile  and  got  together  fifty 
men  of  the  common  run,  they  wouldn't 
have  been  worth  this  one." 

The  greater  part  of  the  company  impli- 
citly subscribed  to  this  opinion,  and  testifi- 
ed their  faith  m  Hugh,  by  nods  and  looks 
of  great  significance.  Mr.  Tappertit  sat 
and  contemplated  him  for  a  long  time  in 
silence,  as  if  he  suspended  his  judgmefit; 
then  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him,  and  eyed 
him  over  more  carefully;  then  went  close 
up  to  him,  and  took  him  apart  into  a  dark 
corner. 

"I  say,"  he  began,  with  a  thoughtful 
brow,  "  haven't  I  seen  you  before  !" 

"It's  like  you  may,"  said  Hugh,  in  hia 
careless  way.  "I  don't  know;  shouldn't 
wonder." 

"No,  but  it's  very  easily  settled,"  re- 
turned Sim.  "  Look  at  me.  Did  you  ev^er 
see  me  before "?  You  wouldn't  be  likely  to 
forget  it,  you  know,  if  you  ever  did.  Look 
at  me.  Don't  be  afraid ;  I  won't  do  you 
any  harm.  Take  a  good  look  —  steady 
now." 

The  encouraging  way  in  which  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit made  this  request,  and  coupled  it 
with  an  assurance  that  he  needn't  be  fright- 
ened, amused  Hugh  mightily — so  much  in- 
deed, that  he  saw  nothing  at  all  of  the  small 
man  before  him,  through  closing  his  eyes 
in  a  fit  of  hearty  laughter,  which  shook  his 
great  broad  sides  until  they  ached  again. 

"Come!"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  growing 
a  little  impatient  under  this  disrespectful 
treatment.     "Do  you  know  me,  feller]" 

"  Not  I,"  cried  Hugh.  "Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Not 
I !     But  I  should  like  to." 

"  And  yet  I  'd  have  wagered  a  seven- 
shilling  piece,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  folding 


lee 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


^is  arms,  and  confronting  him  with  his  le^^s 
wide  apart  and  firmly  planted  on  the 
ground,  "  that  you  once  were  hostler  at 
Jie  Maypole." 

Hugh  opened  his  eyes  on  hearing  this, 
and  looked  at  him  in  great  surprise. 

"  — And  so  you  were,  too,"  said  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit,  pushing  him  away,  with  a  conde- 
scending playfulness.  "  When  did  my  eyes 
ever  deceive — unless  it  was  a  young  wo- 
man!    Don't  you  know  me  now  ]" 

"  Why  it  an't — "  Huah  faltered. 

"  An't  it,  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  Are  you 
sure  of  that  1  You  remember  G.  Varden, 
don't  you  1" 

Certainly  Hugh  did,  and  he  remember- 
ed D.  Varden,  too ;  but  that  he  didn't  tell 
him. 

"  You  remember  coming  down  there,  be- 
fore I  was  out  of  my  time,  to  ask  after  a 
vagabond  that  had  bolted  off,  and  left  his 
disconsolate  father  a  prey  to  the  bitterest 
emotions,  and  all  the  rest  of  it — don't  youl" 
said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  Of  course  I  do !"  cried  Hugh.  "  And 
I  saw  you  there." 

"Saw  me  there!"  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 
"  Yes,  I  should  think  you  did  see  me  there. 
The  place  would  be  troubled  to  go  on  with- 
out me.  Don't  you  remember  my  thinking 
you  liked  the  vagabond,  and  on  that  account 
going  to  quarrel  with  you ;  and  then  find- 
ing you  detested  him  worse  than  poison, 
going  to  drink  with  you !  Don't  you  re- 
member that]" 

"  To  be  sure  !"  cried  Hugh. 

"  Well !  and  are  you  in  the  same  mind 
now  V  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"Yes!"  roared  Hugh. 

"  You  speak  like  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit, "and  I'll  shake  hands  with  you." — 
With  these  conciliatory  expressions,  he 
suited  the  action  to  the  word ;  and  Hugh 
meeting  his  advances  readily,  they  per- 
formed the  ceremony  with  a  show  of  great 
heartiness. 

"  I  find,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  looking 
round  on  the  assembled  guests,  "  that  bro- 
ther What's-his-name  and  I  are  old  ac- 
quaintance.— You  never  heard  anything 
more  of  that  rascal,  I  suppose,  eh  ?" 

"  Not  a  syllable,"  replied  Hugh.  "  I  ne- 
ver want  to.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  shall. 
He 's  dead  long  ago,  I  hope." 

"It's  to  be  hoped,  for  the  sake  of  man- 
kind in  general  and  the  happiness  of  socie- 
ty, that  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  rubbing 
hib  palm  upon  his  legs,  and  looking  at  it 
between  whiles.  "  Is  your  other  hand  at 
all  cleaner  1  Much  the  same.  Well,  I'll 
owe  you  another  shake.  We'll  suppose  it 
dopp,  if  you  've  no  objeclion." 

Hugh  laughed  agam,  and  with  such  tho- 


rough abandonment  to  his  mad  I  ^v  »ui 
that  his  limbs  seemed  dislocated,  and  hia 
whole  frame  in  danger  of  tumbling  to 
pieces;  but  Mr.  Tappertit,  so  far  from  re- 
ceiving this  extreme  merriment  with  any 
irritation,  was  pleased  to  regard  it  with  the 
utmost  favour,  and  even  to  join  in  it,  so  far 
as  one  of  his  gravity  and  station  could,  with 
any  regard  to  that  decency  and  decorum 
which  men  in  high  places  are  expected  to 
maintain. 

Mr.  Tappertit  did  not  stop  here,  as  many 
public  characters  might  have  done,  but, 
calling  up  his  brace  of  lieutenants,  intro- 
duced Hugh  to  them  with  high  commenda- 
tion; declaring  him  to  be  a  man  who,  at 
such  times  as  those  in  which  they  lived, 
could  not  be  too  much  cherished.  Further, 
he  did  him  the  honour  to  remark,  that  he 
would  be  an  acquisition  of  which  even  the 
United  Bull-Dogs  might  be  proud;  and 
finding,  upon  sounding  him,  that  he  was 
quite  ready  and  willing  to  enter  the  socie 
ty  (for  he  was  not  at  all  particular,  and 
would  have  leagued  himself  that  night 
with  anything,  or  anybody,  for  any  purpose 
whatsoever),  caused  the  necessary  prelimi- 
naries to  be  gone  into  upon  the  spot.  This 
tribute  to  his  great  merit  delighted  no  man 
more  than  Mr.  Dennis,  as  he  himself  pro- 
claimed with  several  rare  and  surprising 
oaths;  and  indeed  it  gave  unmingled  satis- 
faction to  the  whole  assembly. 

"  Make  anything  you  like  of  me  !"  cried 
Hugh,  flourishing  the  can  he  had  emptied 
more  than  once.  "Put  me  on  any  duty 
you  please.  I  'm  your  man.  I  '11  do  it. 
Here's  my  captain  —  here's  my  leader. 
Ha,  ha,  ha !  Let  him  give  me  the  word 
of  command,  and  I  '11  fight  the  whole  Par- 
liament House  single-handed,  or  set  a 
lighted  torch  to  the  King's  Throne  itself!" 
With  that,  he  smote  Mr.  Tappertit  on  the 
back,  with  such  violence  that  his  little  body 
seemed  to  shrink  into  a  mere  nothing;  and 
roared  again  until  the  very  fiiundlings  near 
at  hand  were  startled  in  their  beds. 

In  fact,  a  sense  of  something  whimsical 
in  their  companionship  seemed  to  have 
taken  entire  possession  of  his  rude  brain. 
The  bare  fact  of  being  pntronised  by  a 
great  man  whom  he  could  h,ive  crushed 
with  one  hand,  appeared  in  his  eyes  so  ec- 
centric and  humorous,  that  a  kind  of  fero- 
cious  merriment  gnined  the  mastery  ovei 
him,  and  quite  subdued  his  brutal  nature. 
He  roared  and  roared  again ;  toasted  Mr. 
Tappertit  a  hundred  times;  declared  him- 
self  a  Bull-Dog  to  the  core;  and  vowed  to 
be  faithful  to  him  to  the  last  drop  of  blood 
in  his  veins. 

All  these  compliments  Mr.  Tappertit 
received  as  matters  of  course  —  flattering 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


167 


enough  in  their  way,  but  entirely  attributa- 
ble to  his  vast  superiority.  His  dignified 
self-possession  only  delighted  Hugh  the 
more ;  and  in  a  word,  tliis  giant  and  dwarf 
struck  up  a  friendship  which  bade  fair  to  be 
of  long  continuance,  as  the  one  held  it  to 
be  his  right  to  command,  and  the  other  con- 
sidered it  an  exquisite  pleasantry  to  obey. 
Nor  was  Hugh  by  any  means  a  passive  fol- 
lower, who  scrupled  to  act  witiiout  precise 
.tnd  definite  orders  ;  for  when  Mr.  Tapper- 
•it  mounted  on  an  empty  cask  which  stood 
•jy  way  of  rostrum  in  the  room,  and  volun- 
teered a  speech  upon  the  alarming  crisis 
then  at  hand,  he  placed  himself  beside  the 
orator,  and  though  he  grinned  from  ear  to 
ear  at  every  word  he  said,  threw  out  such 
expressive  hints  to  scoffers  in  the  manage- 


ment of  his  cudgeJ,  that  those  who  were  at 
first  the  most  disposed  to  interrupt,  became 
remarkably  attentive,  and  were  the  loudest 
in  their  approbation. 

It  was  not  all  noise  and  jest,  however,  at 
The  Boot,  nor  were  tlie  vvliole  party  lislen- 
srs  to  the  speech.  There  were  some  men 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room  (which  was  a 
long,  low-roofed  chamber)  in  earnest  con- 
versation all  the  time;  and  when  any  of 
this  group  went  out,  fresh  people  were  sure 
to  come  in  soon  afterwards  and  sit  down  in 
their  places,  as  tiiough  the  others  had  re- 
lieved them  on  some  watch  or  duty;  which 
it  was  pretty  clear  they  did,  for  these 
changes  took  place  by  the  clock,  at  inter- 
vals of  half  an  hour.  These  persons  whis- 
pered very  mucii  among  themselves,  and 


kept  aloof,  and  often  looked  round,  as  jeal- 
ous of  their  speech  being  overheard ;  some 
two  or  three  among  them  entered  in  books 
what  S"emod  to  be  reports  from  the  others; 
when  they  were  not  thus  employed,  one  of 
them  would  turn  to  the  newspapers  which 
were  strewn  noon  the  table,  and  from  the 
Saint  James's  Chronicle,  the  Herald,  Chro- 
nicle, or  Public  Advertiser,  would  read  to 
the  rest  in  a  low  voice  some  passage  having 
reference  to  the  topic  in  which  they  were 
all  60  def'ply  interested.     But  the  great  at- 


traction was  a  pamphlet  called  The  Thun- 
derer, which  espoused  their  own  opinions, 
and  was  supposed  at  that  time  tn  eninpMto 
directly  from  the  Associatidii.  This  w.-.h 
always  in  request;  and  whether  reail  aloud, 
to  an  eager  knot  of  listeners,  or  by  some 
solitary  man,  was  certain  tn  be  followed  by 
stormy  talking  and  excited  looks. 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  merriment,  and 
admiration  of  his  captain,  Hugh  was  mado 
sensible  by  these  and  otiier  tokens,  of  the 
presence  of  an  air  of  mystery,  akin  to  tha' 


lOS 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


whicli  had  so  much  impressed  him  out  of 
doors.  It  was  impossible  to  discard  a  sense 
that  something  serious  was  going  on,  and 
that  under  the  noisy  revel  of  the  public- 
house,  there  lurked  unseen  and  dangerous 
matter.  Little  affected  by  this,  however, 
he  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  quarters 
and  would  have  remained  there  till  morn- 
ing, but  that  his  conductor  rose  soon  after 
midnight,  to  go  home ;  Mr.  Tappertit  fol- 
lowing his  example,  left  him  no  excuse  to 
stay.  So  they  all  three  left  the  house  to- 
gether—  roaring  a  No-Popery  song  until 
the  fields  resounded  with  the  dismal  noise. 

"  Cheer  up,  captain !"  cried  Hugh,  when 
they  had  roared  themselves  out  of  breath. 
*»  Another  stave!" 

Mr.  Tappertit,  nothing  loath,  began 
again  ;  and  so  the  three  went  staggering 
on,  arm-in-arm,  shouting  like  madmen,  and 
defying  the  watch  with  great  valour.  In- 
deed this  did  not  require  any  unusual  brave- 
ry or  boldness,  as  the  watchmen  of  that 
time,  being  selected  for  the  office  on  ac- 
count of  excessive  age  and  extraordinary 
infirmity,  had  a  custom  of  shutting  them- 
selves up  tight  in  their  boxes  on  the  first 
symptoms  of  disturbance,  and  remaining 
there  until  they  disappeared.  In  these  pro- 
ceedings, Mr.  Dennis,  who  had  a  gruff 
voice  and  lungs  of  a  considerable  power, 
distinguished  himself  very  much,  and  ac- 
quired great  credit  with  his  two  compan- 
ions, 

"  What  a  queer  fellow  you  are !"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit.  "  You  're  so  precious  sly 
and  close.  Why  don't  you  ever  tell  what 
trade  you're  of!" 

"Answer  the  captain  instantly,"  cried 
Hugh,  beating  his  hat  down  on  his  head; 
"why  don't  you  ever  tell  what  trade  you're 
ofr' 

"I'm  of  as  gen-teel  a  calling,  brother, 
as  any  man  in  England  —  as  light  a  busi- 
ness as  any  gentleman  could  desire." 

"  Was  you  'prenticed  to  it  ]"  asked  Mr. 
Tappertit. 

"  No.  Natural  genius,"  said  Mr.  Den- 
nis. "  No  'prenticing.  It  came  by  natur'. 
Muster  Gashford  knows  my  calling.  Look 
at  that  hand  of  mine.  Many  and  many  a 
job  that  hand  has  done,  with  a  neatness 
and  dexterity  never  known  afore.  When 
I  look  4t  hat  nand,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  shak- 
ink  it  in  the  air,  "  and  remember  the  hele- 
gant  bits  of  work  it  has  turned  off,  I  feel 
quite  molloncholy  to  think  it  should  ever 
grow  old  and  feeble.     But  such  is  life  !" 

He  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  as  he  indulged 
in  these  reflections;  and  putting  his  fingers 
with:  an  absent  air  on  Hugh's  throat,  and 
particularly  under  his  left  ear,  as  if  he  were 
tludying  the  anatomical  development  of 


that  part  of  his  frame,  shook  his  head  in  a 
despondent  manner  and  actually  shed  tears. 

"  You  're  a  kind  of  artist,  I  suppose — 
ehf  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"Yes,"  rejoined  Dennis;  "yes — I  may 
call  myself  a  artist — a  fancy  workman- 
art  improves  natur' — that's  my  motto." 

"And  what  do  you  call  thisl"  said  Mr. 
Tappertit,  taking  his  stick  out  of  his  hand. 

"That's  my  portrait  atop,"  Dennis  re- 
plied; "d'ye  think  it's  like!" 

"  VVhy — it's  a  little  too  handsome,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit.     "  Who  did  it  ]     You  ]" 

"  I !"  repeated  Dennis,  gazing  fondly 
on  his  image.  "  I  wish  1  had  the  talent. 
That  was  carved  by  a  friend  of  mine,  as  is 
now  no  more.  The  very  day  afore  he  died, 
he  cut  that  with  his  pocket-knife,  from  me- 
mory !  I'll  die  game,  says  my  friend,  and 
my  last  moments  shall  be  dewoted  to  mak- 
ing Dennis's  pictur'.     That's  it." 

"That  was  a  queer  fancy,  wasn't  if!" 
said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  It  was  a  queer  fancy,"  rejoined  the 
other,  breathing  on  his  fictitious  nose,  and 
polishing  it  with  the  cuft'  of  his  coat,  "  but 
he  was  a  queer  subject  altogether — a  kind 
of  gipsy — one  of  the  finest,  stand-up-men, 
you  oversee.  Ah!  he  told  me  some  things 
that  would  startle  you  a  bit,  did  that  friend 
of  mine,  on  the  morning  when  he  died." 

"You  were  with  him  at  the  time,  were 
you  1"  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  curious  look, 
"  I  was  there.  Oh  !  yes,  certainly,  I  was 
there.  He  wouldn't  have  gone  off  half  as 
comfortable  without  me.  I  had  been  with 
three  or  four  of  his  family  under  the  same 
circumstances.  They  were  all  fine  fel- 
lows." 

"They  must  have  been  fond  of  you,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Tappertit,  looking  at  him  side- 
ways. 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  was  exactly 
fond  of  me,"  said  Dennis,  with  a  little  hesi- 
tation, "  but  they  all  had  me  near  'em  when 
they  departed.  I  come  in  for  their  ward- 
robes, too.  This  very  hankecher  that  you 
see  round  my  neck,  belonged  to  him  that 
I  've  been  speaking  of —  him  as  did  that 
likeness." 

Mr.  Tappertit  glanced  at  the  article  re- 
ferred to,  and  appeared  to  think  that  the 
deceased's  ideas  of  dress  were  of  a  pecu- 
liar and  by  no  means  an  expensive  kind. 
He  made  no  remark  upon  the  point,  how- 
ever, and  suffered  his  mysterious  companion 
to  proceed  without  interruption. 

"  These  smalls,"  said  Dennis,  rubbing 
his  legs;  "these  very  smalls  —  they  be- 
longed to  a  friend  of  mine  that's  left  off 
such  incumbrances  for  ever:  this  coat,  too 
— I  've  often  walked  behind  this  coat,  in  the 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


streets,  and  wondered  whetlier  it  would 
ever  come  to  me :  this  pair  of  shoes  have 
danced  a  hornpipe  for  another  man,  afore 
my  eyes,  full  half-a-dozen  times  at  least : 
and  as  to  my  hat,"  he  said,  taking  it  off, 
and  twirlintr  it  round  upon  his  fist — "  Lord  ! 
I've  seen  this  hat  go  up  Holborn  on  the 
box  of  a  hackney-coach  —  ah,  many  and 
many  a  day  !" 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  their  old  w^ear- 
ors  are  all  dead,  I  hopel"  said  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit,  falling  a  little  distance  from  him,  as 
he  spoke. 

"Every  one  of  'em,"  replied  Dennis. 
"  Every  man,  Jack  !" 

There  was  something  so  very  ghastly 
in  this  circumstance,  and  it  appeared  to  ac- 
count, in  such  a  very  strange  and  dismal 
manner,  for  his  faded  dress — which,  in  this 
new  afipcct,  seemed  discoloured  by  the 
earth  from  graves — that  Mr.  Tappertit  ab- 
ruptly found  he  was  going  another  way, 
and,  stopping  short,  bade  him  good  night 
with  the  utmost  heartiness.  As  they  hap- 
pened to  be  near  the  Old  Bailey,  and  Mr. 
Dennis  knew  there  were  turnkeys  in  the 
jodge  with  whom  he  could  pass  the  night, 
and  discuss  professional  subjects  of  common 
interest  among  them  before  a  rousing  fire, 
and  over  a  social  glass,  he  separated  from 
his  companions  without  any  great  regret, 
and  warmly  shaking  hands  with  Hugh,  and 
making  an  early  appointment  for  their 
meeting  at  The  Boot,  left  them  to  pursue 
iheir  road. 

"  That 's  a  strange  sort  of  man,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  watching  the  hackney- 
coachman's  hat  as  it  went  bobbing  down 
the  street.  "I  don't  know  what  to  make 
of  him.  Why  can't  he  have  his  smalls 
made  to  order,  or  wear  live  clothes  at  any 


"He's  a  lucky  man,  captain,"  cried 
Hugh.  "  I  should  like  to  have  such  friends 
as  his." 

"  I  hope  he  don't  get  'em  to  make  their 
wills  and  then  knock  'em  on  the  head," 
said  Mr.  Tappertit,  musing.  "But  come. 
The  United  B.'s  expect  me.  Oh ! — What 's 
the  matter  1" 

"  I  quite  forgot,"  said  Hugh,  who  had 
started  at  the  striking  of  a  neighbouring 
clock.  "  I  have  somebody  to  see  to-night 
— I  must  turn  back  directly.  The  drink- 
ing and  singing  put  it  out  of  my  head. 
It's  well  1  remembered  it!" 

Mr.  Tappertit  looked  at  him  as  though 
he  were  about  to  give  utterance  to  some 
very  majestic  sentiments  in  reference  to 
this  act  of  desertion ;  but  as  it  was  clear, 
from  Hugh's  hasty  manner,  that  the  en- 
gagement was  one  of  a  pressing  nature,  he 
graciously  forbore,  and  gave  him  his  per- 
mission to  depart  immediately,  —  which 
Hugh  acknowledged  with  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter. 

" Good  night,  captain!"  he  cried.  "I  am 
yours  to  the  death,  remember !" 

"  Farewell !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  waving 
his  hand.     "  Be  bold  and  vigilant !" 

"  No  Popery,  captain  !"  roared  Hugh. 

"  England  in  blood  first !"  cried  his  des- 
perate leader.  Whereat  Hugh  cheered 
and  laughed,  and  ran  off  like  a  greyhound. 

"  That  man  will  prove  a  credit  to  my 
corps,"  said  Simon,  turning  thoughtfully 
upon  his  heel.  "And  let  me  see.  In  an 
a'ltered  state  of  society — which  must  ensue 
if  we  break  out  and  are  victorious — when 
the  locksmith's  child  is  mine,  Miggs  must 
be  got  rid  of  somehow,  or  she'll  poison  the 
tea-kettle  one  evening  when  I  'm  out.  He 
might  marry  Miggs,  if  he  was  drunk  enough. 
It  shall  be  done.    1  '11  make  a  note  of  it.' 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTIETH. 


Little  thinking  of  the  plan  for  his  hap-  ' 
py  settlement  in  life  which  had  suggested  j 
itself  to  the  teeming  brain  of  his  provident  | 
commander,  Hugh  made  no  pause  until  i 
Saint  Dunstan's  giants  struck  the  hour  I 
above  him,  when  he  worked  the  handle  of  I 
a  pump  which  stood  hard  by,  with  great 
vigour,  and  thrusting  hie  head  under  the 
epout,  let  the  water  gush  upon  him  until  a 
liUle  stream  ran  down  from  every  uncomb- 
«(I  hair,  and  he  was  wet  to  the  waisL 


Considerably  refreshed  by  this  ablution, 
both  in  mind  and  body,  and  almost  sobered 
for  the  time,  he  dried  himself  as  he  best 
could ;  then  crossed  the  road,  and  plied  the 
knncker  of  the  Middle  Temple  gate. 

The  night-porter  looked  through  a  small 
grating  in  the  portal  with  a  surly  eye,  and 
cried  "  Halloa  V  which  greeting  Hugh  re- 
turned in  kind,  and  bade  him  open  quickly. 

"  We  don't  sell  beer  here,"  cried  the 
man ;  "  what  else  do  you  wantT' 


170 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"To  come  in,"  Hugh  replied,  with  a 
kick  at  the  door. 

"  Where  to  go  tol" 

"  Piiper-BuildinCTs." 

"  Whose  chambers  ]" 

"Sir  John  Chester's."  Each  of  which 
imswers,  he  emphasised  with  another  kick. 

After  a  little  growling  on  the  other  side, 
the  gate  was  opened,  and  he  passed  in: 
undergoing  a  close  inspection  from  the  por- 
ter as  he  did  so. 

"  You  wanting  Sir  John,  at  this  lime  of 
night !"  said  the  man. 

"  Ay  !"  said  Hugh.   "  I !  What  of  that  ?" 

"  Why,  I  must  go  with  you  and  see  that 
you  do,  for  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Come  along  then." 

Eyeing  him  with  suspicious  looks,  the 
man,  with  key  and  lantern,  walked  on  at 
his  side,  and  attended  him  to  Sir  John 
Chester's  door,  at  which  Hugh  gave  one 
knock,  that  echoed  through  the  dark  stair- 
case like  a  ghostly  summons,  and  made  the 
dull  light  tremble  in  the  drowsy  lamp. 

"  Do  you  think  he  wants  me  now  ]"  said 
Huo-h. 

Before  the  man  had  time  to  answer,  a 
footstep  was  heard  within,  a  light  appear- 
ed, and  Sir  John,  in  his  dressing-gown  and 
slippers,  opened  the  door. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon.  Sir  John,"  said  the 
porter,  pulling  off  his  hat.  "Here's  a 
young  man  says  he  wants  to  speak  to  you. 
It 's  late  for  strangers.  I  thought  it  best 
to  see  that  all  was  right." 

"Aha!"  cried  Sir  John,  raising  his  eye- 
brows. "  It 's  you,  messenger,  is  if!  Go 
in.  Quite  right,  friend.  I  commend  your 
prudence  highly.  Thank  you.  God  bless 
you.     Good  night." 

To  he  commended,  thanked,  God-blessed, 
and  bade  good  night  by  one  who  carried 
"  Sir"  before  his  name,  and  wrote  himself 
M.  P.  to  boot,  was  something  for  a  porter. 
He  withdrew  with  much  humility  and  re- 
verence. Sir  John  followed  his  late  visiter 
into  the  dressing-room,  and  sitting  in  his 
easy  chair  before  the  fire,  and  movmg  it  so 
that  he  could  see  him  as  he  stood,  hat  in 
hand,  beside  the  door,  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot. 

The  old  face,  calm  and  pleasant  as  ever; 
the  complexion,  quite  juvenile  in  its  bloom 
and  clearness;  the  same  smile;  the  Vi/ont- 
«d  precision  and  elegance  of  dress ;  the 
white,  well-ordered  teeth;  the  delicate 
hands ;  the  composed  and  quiet  manner ; 
everything  as  it  used  to  be:  no  marks  of 
age  or  passion,  envy,  hate,  or  discontent: 
all  unruffled  and  serene,  and  quite  delight- 
I'ul  to  behold. 

He  wrote  himself  M.  P.  —  but  howl 
Why,  thus.     It  was  a  proud  family — more 


proud,  indeed,  than  wealthy.  He  had  stood 
in  danger  of  arrest;  of  bailiffs,  and  a  jaii 
— a  vulgar  jail,  to  which  the  common  peo- 
ple with  small  incomes  went.  Gentlemen 
of  ancient  houses  have  no  privilege  of  ex- 
em})tion  fiom  such  cruel  laws — unless  they 
are  of  one  great  house,  and  then  they  have. 
A  proud  man  of  his  stock  and  kindred  had 
the  means  of  sending  him  there.  He  offer- 
ed —  not  indeed  to  pay  his  debt?,  but  to  let 
him  sit  for  a  close  borough  until  his  own 
son  came  of  age,  which,  if  he  lived,  would 
come  to  pass  in  twenty  years.  It  was 
quite  as  good  as  an  Insolvent  Act,  and  in- 
finitely more  genteel.  So  Sir  Jolui  Ches- 
ter was  a  member  of  Parliament. 

But  how  Sir  John  ?  Nothing  so  simple, 
or  so  easy.  One  touch  witii  a  sword  of 
state,  and  the  transtc^rmation  is  effected. 
John  Chester,  Enquire,  M.  P.  attended 
court — went  up  with  an  address — headed  a 
deputation.  Such  elegance  of  manner,  so 
many  graces  of  deportment,  such  powers 
of  conversation,  could  never  pass  unnoticed. 
Mr.  was  too  common  for  such  merit.  A 
man  so  gentlemanly  should  have  been — bu* 
Fortune  is  capricious  —  born  a  Duke:  jus 
as  some  dukes  should  have  been  born  la 
bourers.  He  caught  the  fancy  of  the  king 
knelt  down  a  grub,  and  rose  a  butterfly 
John  Chester,  Esquire,  was  knighted  ant 
became  Sir  John. 

"  I  thought  when  you  lef\  me  this  even- 
ing, my  esteemed  acquaintance,"  said  Sii 
John  after  a  pretty  long  silence,  "thatyoa 
intended  to  return  with  all  despatch '*" 

"  So  I  did,  master." 

"  And  so  you  have  V  he  retorted,  glanc- 
ing at  his  watch.  "  Is  that  what  you  would 
say  ?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Hugh  changed  the 
leg  on  which  l)e  leant,  shutBed  bis  cap 
from  one  hand  to  the  other,  looked  at  the 
ground,  the  wall,  tiie  ceiling,  and  finally  at 
Sir  John  himself;  before  whose  pleasanJ 
face  he  lowered  his  eyes  again,  and  fixed 
them  on  the  floor. 

"And  how  have  you  been  employing 
yourself  in  the  mean  while!"  quoth  Sir 
John,  lazily  crossing  his  legs.  "  Where 
have  you  been  ?  what  harm  have  you  been 
doing?" 

"  No  harm  at  all,  master,"  growled  Hugh, 
with  humility.  "I  have  only  done  as  yo.j 
ordered." 

"  As  I  what  ?"  returned  Sir  John. 

"  Well  then,"  said  Hu^h  uneasily,  "  as 
you  advised,  or  said  I  ought,  or  said  1  might, 
or  said  that  you  would  do,  if  you  was  me. 
Don't  be  so  hard  upon  me,  master." 

Something  like  an  expression  of  triumph 
in  the  perfect  control  he  had  established 
over  this  rough  instrument,  appeared  in  the 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


171 


knight's  face  for  an  instant ;  but  it  vanished 
directly,  as  he  said — paring  his  nails  while 
ppeakingr; 

"  When  you  say  I  ordered  you,  my  fjood 
fellow,  3^ou  imply  that  I  directed  you  to  do 
sonnethin<r  for  me  —  something  I  wanted 
done — something  for  my  own  ends  and  pur- 
poses— you  see  ]  Now  I  am  sure  I  needn't 
enlarge  upon  the  extreme  absurdity  of 
such  an  idea,  however  unintentional ;  so, 
please — "  and  here  he  turned  his  eyes  upon 
him — "to  be  more  guarded.  Will  youl" 

"  I  meant  to  give  you  no  otfence,"  said 
Hugh.  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  You 
catch  me  up  so  very  short." 

"  You  will  be  caught  up  much  shorter, 
my  good  friend — infinitely  shorter — one  of 
these  days,  depend  upon  it,"  replied  his 
patron,  calmly.  "  By-the-bye,  instead  of 
wondering  why  you  have  been  so  long,  my 
wonder  should  be  why  you  came  at  all. 
Why  did  your 

"  You  know,  master,"  said  Hugh,  "  that 
I  couldn't  read  the  bill  I  found,  and  that 
supposing  it  to  be  something  particular 
from  the  way  it  was  wrapped  up,  I  brought 
it  here." 

"  And  could  you  ask  no  one  else  to  read 
it.  Bruin  1"  said  Sir  John. 

"  No  one  that  I  could  trust  with  secrets, 
master.  Since  Barnaby  Rudge  was  lost 
sight  of  for  efood  and  all  —  and  that's  five 
year  ago  —  I  haven't  talked  with  any  one 
but  you." 

"  You  have  done  me  honour,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  have  come  to  and  fro,  master,  all 
through  that  time,  when  there  was  any- 
thing to  tell,  because  I  knew  that  you  'd  be 
angry  with  me  if  I  stayed  away,"  said 
Hugh,  blurting  the  words  out,  after  an  em- 
barrassed silence ;  "  and  because  I  wished 
to  please  you,  if  I  could,  and  not  to  have 
you  go  against  me.  There.  ,  That's  the 
true  reason  why  I  came  to-night.  You 
know  that,  master,  I  am  sure." 

"  You  are  a  specious  fellow,"  returned 
Sir  John,  fixing  his  eyes  upon  him,  "and 
carry  two  faces  under  your  hood,  as  well  as 
the  best.  Didn't  you  give  me  in  this  room, 
this  evenincr,  any  other  reason;  no  dislike 
of  anybody  who  has  sli(,rbted  you,  lately,  on 
all  occai-ions,  abused  you,  treated  you  with 
rudeness;  acted  towards  you,  more  as  if 
you  were  a  mongrel  dog  than  a  man  like 
himself]" 

"  To  be  sure  I  did  I"  cried  Hugh,  his  pas- 
sion rising,  as  the  other  meant  it  should ; 
"and  I  say  it  all  over  now,  again.  I  'd  do 
anything  to  have  some  reveng-e  on  him  — 
anything.  And  when  you  told  me  that  he 
and  all  the  Catholics  would  suffer  from 
those  who  joined  together  under  that  hand- 
bill, I  said  I  'd  make  one  of  'em,  if  their 


master  was  the  devil  himself  I  am  one  of 
'em.  See  whether  I  am  as  good  as  my 
word  and  turn  out  to  be  among  the  fore- 
most, or  no.  I  mayn't  have  much  head, 
master,  but  I've  head  enough  to  remember 
those  that  use  me  ill.  You  shall  see,  and 
so  shall  he,  and  so  shall  hundreds  more, 
how  my  spirit  backs  me  when  the  time 
comes.  My  bark  is  nothing  to  my  bite. 
Some  that  I  know,  had  better  have  a  wild 
lion  among  'em  than  me,  when  I  am  fairly 
loose — they  had  !" 

The  knight  looked  at  him  with  a  smile 
of  far  deeper  meaning  than  ordinary ;  and 
pointing  to  the  old  cupboard,  followed  him 
with  his  eyes  while  he  filled  and  drank  a 
glass  of  liquor;  and  smiled  when  his  back 
was  turned,  with  deeper  meaning  yet. 

"  You  are  in  a  blustering  mood,  my 
friend,"  he  said,  when  Hugh  confronted 
him.&gain. 

"  Not  I,  master !"  cried  Hugh.  "  1  don't 
say  half  I  mean.  I  can't.  I  haven't  got 
the  gift.  There  are  talkers  enough  among 
us ;  I  '11  be  one  of  the  doers," 

"Oh!  you  have  joined  those  fellows 
then  ]"  said  Sir  John,  with  an  air  of  most 
profound  indifl^erence. 

"  Yes,  I  went  up  to  the  house  you  told 
me  of,  and  got  put  down  upon  the  muster. 
There  was  another  man  there,  named  Den- 
nis— " 

"  Dennis,  eh  !"  cried  Sir  John,  laughing. 
"  Ay,  ay  !  a  pleasant  fellow,  I  believe  ?" 

"A  roaring  dog,  master  —  one  after  my 
own  heart — hot  upon  the  matter  too — red 
hot." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  replied  Sir  John  care- 
lessly. "  You  don't  happen  to  know  his 
trade,  do  you  V 

"He  wouldn't  say,"  cried  Huv^n,  "He 
keeps  it  secret." 

"  Ha,  ha !"  laughed  Sii  John.  "  A 
strange  fancy — a  weakness  with  some  per- 
sons—  you'll  know  it  one  day,  I  dare 
swear." 

"  We're  intimate  already,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Quite  natural !  And  have  been  drink- 
ing tocjether,  eh  V  pursued  Sir  John.  "  Did 
you  say  what  place  you  went  to  in  com- 
pany, when  you  left  Lord  George's?" 

Hugh  had  not  said  or  thought  of  saying, 
but  he  told  him;  and  this  inquiry  being  fol- 
lowed by  a  long  train  of  questions,  iie  re- 
lated all  that  had  passed  both  in  and  out  of 
doors,  the  kind  of  people  he  had  seen,  their 
numbers,  state  of  feehng,  mode  of  conver- 
sation, apparent  expectations  and  inten 
tions.  His  questioning  was  so  artfully 
contrived,  that  he  seemed  even  in  his  own 
eyes  to  volunteer  all  this  information  rather 
than  to  have  it  wrested  from  him ;  and  he 
was  brought  to  this  state  of  feeling  M 


172 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


naturally,  that  when  Mr.  Chester  yawned 
at  length  and  declared  himself  quite  weari- 
ed out,  he  made  a  rough  kind  of  excuse  for 
having  talked  so  much. 

"  Tliere  —  get  you  gone,"  said  Sir  John, 
nolding  the  door  open  in  his  hand.  "  You 
have  made  a  pretty  evening's  work.  I  told 
you  not  to  do  this.  You  may  get  into  trou- 
ble. You'll  have  an  opportunity  of  re- 
venging yourself  on  your  proud  friend 
Haredale,  though,  and  for  that,  you'd  haz- 
ard anythins:  I  suppose?" 

"  I  would,"  retorted  Hugh,  stopping  in 
his  passage  out,  and  looking  back;  "but 
what  do  /  risk  !  What  do  I  stand  a  chance 
of  losing,  master  ?  Friends,  home  ]  A  fig 
for  'em  all ;  I  have  none;  they  are  nothing 
to  me.  Give  me  a  good  scuffle;  let  me 
payoff  old  scores  in  a  bold  riot  where  there 
are  men  to  stand  by  me ;  and  then  use  me 
as  you  like  —  it  don't  matter  much  to  me 
what  the  end  is !" 

"  What  have  you  done  with  that  paper  1" 
said  Sir  John. 

"I  have  it  here,  master." 

"  Drop  it  again  as  you  go  along;  it's  as 
well  not  to  keep  such  things  about  you." 

Hugh  nodded,  and  touching  his  cap  with 
an  air  of  as  much  respect  as  he  could  sum- 
mon up,  departed. 

Sir  John,  fastening  the  doors  behind  him, 
went  back  to  his  dressing-room,  and  sat 
down  once  again  before  the  fire,  at  which 
he  gazed  for  a  long  time,  in  earnest  medi- 
tation. 

"This  happens  fortunately,"  he  said, 
breaking  into  a  smile,  "  and  promises  well. 
Let  me  see.  My  relative  and  I,  who  are 
the  most  Protestant  fellows  in  the  world, 
give  our  worst  wishes  to  the  Roman  Catho- 
lic cause;  and  to  Saville,  who  introduces 
their  bill,  I  have  a  personal  objection  be- 


sides; but  as  each  of  us  has  himself  for  the 
first  article  in  his  creed,  we  cannot  commit 
ourselves  by  joining  with  a  very  extrava- 
gant madman,  such  as  this  Gordon  most 
undoubtedly  is.  Now  really,  to  foment  his 
disturbances  in  secret,  through  the  medium 
of  sucii  a  very  apt  instrument  as  my  savage 
friend  here,  may  further  our  real  ends;  and 
to  express  at  all  becoming  seasons,  in 
moderate  and  polite  terms,  a  disapprobation 
of  his  proceedings,  though  we  agree  with 
him  in  principle,  will  certainly  be  to  gain  a 
character  for  honesty  and  uprightness  of 
purpose,  which  cannot  fail  to  do  us  infinite 
service,  and  to  raise  us  into  some  impor- 
tance.  Good  !  So  much  for  public  grounds. 
As  to  private  considerations,  I  confess  thai 
if  these  vagabonds  would  make  some  riot- 
ous demonstration  (which  does  not  appear 
impossible),  and  would  inflict  some  little 
chastisement  on  Haredale  as  a  not  inactive 
man  among  his  sect,  it  would  be  extremely 
agreeable  to  my  feelings,  and  would  amuse 
me  beyond  measure.  Good  again!  Per- 
haps better  !" 

When  he  came  to  this  point,  he  took  a 
pinch  of  snuff";  then  beginning  slowly  to 
undress,  he  resumed  his  meditations,  by 
saying  with  a  smile: 

"  I  fear,  I  do  fear  exceedingly,  that  my 
friend  is  following  fast  in  the  footsteps  of 
his  mother.  His  intimacy  with  Mr.  Den^ 
nis  is  very  ominous.  But  I  have  no  doubt 
he  must  have  come  to  that  end  any  way 
If  I  lend  him  a  helping  hand,  the  only  dif- 
ference is,  that  he  may,  upon  the  whole, 
possibly  drink  a  few  gallons,  or  puncheons, 
or  hogsheads,  less  in  this  life  than  he  other- 
wise would.  It's  no  business  of  mine. 
It's  a  matter  of  very  small  importance!" 

So  lie  took  another  pinch  of  snuff,  and 
went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-FIRST. 


From  the  workshop  of  the  Golden  Key, 
there  issued  forth  a  tinkling  sound,  so 
merry  and  good-humoured,  that  it  suggest- 
ed the  idea  of  some  one  working  blithely, 
and  made  quite  pleasant  music.  No  man 
who  hammered  on  at  a  dull  monotonous 
duty,  could  have  brought  such  cheerful 
notes  from  steel  and  iron  ;  none  but  a  chirp- 
ing, healthy,  honest-hearted  fellow,  who 
made  the  best  of  everything,  and  felt  kind- 
ly towards  everybody,  could  have  done  it 
for  an  instant.  He  might  have  been  a  cop- 
persmith, and  still  been  musical.  If  he 
pad  sat  in  a  jolting  wagon,  full  of  rods  of 


iron,  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  brought 
some  harmony  out  of  it. 

Tink,  tink,  tink  —  clear  as  a  silver  bell, 
and  audible  at  every  pause  of  the  streets' 
harsher  noises,  as  though  it  said,  "  I  doni 
care  ;  nothing  puts  me  out;  I  am  resolved 
to  be  happy."  Women  scolded,  children 
squalled,  heavy  carts  went  rumbling  by 
horrible  cries  proceeded  from  the  lungs  of 
hawkers ;  still  it  struck  in  again,  no  higher, 
no  lower,  no  louder,  no  softer ;  not  thrust- 
ing itself  on  people's  notice  a  bit  the  mora 
for  having  been  outdone  by  louder  sounds— 
tink,  tink,  tink,  tink,  tink. 


BARN  A  By  RUDGE. 


173 


It  was  a  perfect  embodiment  of  the  still 
small  voice,  free  from  all  cold,  hoarseness, 
huskiness,  or  unhealthiness  of  any  kind ; 
foot-passentrers  slackened  their  pace,  and 
were  dii-poscd  to  linger  near  it;  neighbours 
who  had  got  up  splenetic  that  morning,  felt 
good-lmmour  stealing  on  them  as  they  heard 
it,  and  by  degrees  became  quite  sprightly  ; 
mothers  danced  their  babies  to  its  ringing; 
Btill  the  same  magical  tink,  tink,  tink,  came 
gaily  from  the  workshop  of  the  Golden 
Key. 

Who  but  the  locksmith  could  have  made 
snch  music !  A  gleam  of  sun  shining 
through  the  unsashed  window,  and  che- 
quering the  dark  workshop  with  a  broad 
patcli  of  light,  fell  full  upon  him,  as  though 
attracted  by  his  sunny  heart.  There  he 
stood  working  at  his  anvil,  his  face  all  radi- 
ant with  exercise  and  gladness,  his  sleeves 
turned  up,  his  wig  pushed  off  his  shining 
forehead — the  easiest,  freest,  happiest  man 
in  all  the  world.  Beside  him  sat  a  sleek 
cat,  purring  and  winking  in  the  light,  and 
falling  every  now  and  then  into  an  idle 
doze,  as  from  excess  of  comfort.  Toby 
looked  on  from  a  tall  bench  hard  by;  one 
beaming  smile,  from  his  broad  nut-brown 
face  down  to  the  slack-baked  buckles  in  his 
shoes.  The  very  locks  that  hung  around 
had  something  jovial  in  their  rust,  and 
seemed  like  gouty  gentlemen  of  hearty 
natures,  disposed  to  joke  on  their  infirmi- 
ties. There  was  nothing  surly  or  severe 
in  the  whole  scene.  It  seemed  impossible 
that  any  one  of  the  innumerable  keys  could 
fit  a  churlish  strong-box  or  a  prison-door. 
Cellars  of  beer  and  wine,  rooms  where 
there  were  fires,  books,  gossip,  and  cheer- 
ing laughter — these  were  their  proper 
sphere  of  action.  Places  of  distrust,  and 
cruelty,  and  restraint,  they  would  have  left 
quadruple-locked  for  ever, 

Tink,  tink,  tink.  The  locksmith  paused 
at  last,  and  wiped  his  brow.  The  silence 
roused  the  cat,  who,  jumping  softly  down, 
crept  to  the  door,  and  watched  with  tiger 
eyes  a  bird-cage  in  an  opposite  window. 
Gabriel  lifted  Toby  to  his  mouth,  and  took 
a  hearty  draught. 

Then,  as  he  stood  upright,  with  his  head 
flung  back,  and  his  portly  chest  thrown  out, 
you  would  have  seen  that  Gabriel's  lower 
man  was  clothed  in  military  gear.  Glanc- 
ing at  the  wall  beyond,  there  might  have 
been  espied,  hanging  on  their  several  pegs, 
a  cap  and  feather,  broad-sword,  sash,  and 
coat  of  scarlet;  which  any  man  learned  in 
such  matters  would  have  known  from  their 
make  and  pattern  to  be  the  uniform  of  a 
Serjeant  in  the  Royal  East-London  Volun- 
teers. 

As  the  locksmith  put  his  mug  down, 


empty,  on  the  bench  whence  it  had  smiled 
on  him  before,  he  glanced  at  these  articles 
with  a  laughing  eye,  and  looking  at  then, 
with  his  head  a  little  on  one  side,  as  though 
he  would  get  them  all  into  a  focus,  said, 
leaning  on  liis  hammer: 

"Time  was,  now,  I  remember,  when  I 
was  like  to  run  mad  with  the  desire  to 
wear  a  coat  of  that  colour.  If  any  one 
(except  my  father)  had  called  me  a  Ibol  for 
my  pains,  hnw  I  should  have  fired  and 
fumed  !  But  what  a  fool  I  must  have  been, 
sure-ly  !" 

"  Ah  !"  sighed  Mrs.  Varden,  who  had  en- 
tered unobserved.  "  A  fool  indeed.  A 
man  at  your  time  of  life,  Varden,  should 
know  better  now." 

"  Why,  what  a  ridiculous  woman  you 
are,  Martha,"  said  the  locksmith,  turning 
round  with  a  smile. 

"Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  V.  with  great 
demureness.  "  Of  course  I  am.  I  know 
that,  Varden.     Thank  you." 

"  I  mean — "  began  the  locksmith. 

"Yes,"  said  his  wife,  "1  know  what  you 
mean.  You  speak  quite  plain  enough  to  be 
understood,  Varden.  It 's  very  kind  of  you 
to  adapt  yourself  to  my  capacity,  I  am 
sure." 

"Tut,  tut,  Martha,"  rejoined  the  lock- 
smith; "  don't  take  offence  at  nothing.  1 
mean,  how  strange  it  is  of  you  to  run  down 
volunteering,  when  it's  done  to  defend  you 
and  all  the  other  women,  and  our  own  fire- 
side and  everybody  else's,  in  case  of  need." 

"It's  unchristian,"  cried  Mrs.  Varden, 
shaking  her  head. 

"  Unchristian !"  said  the  locksmith. — 
"  Why,  what  the  devil — " 

Mrs.  Varden  looked  at  the  ceiling,  as  in 
expectation  that  the  consequence  of  this 
protiinity  would  be  the  immediate  descent 
of  the  four-post  bedstead  on  the  second 
floor,  together  with  the  best  sitting-room  on 
the  first;  but  no  visible  judgment  occur- 
ring, she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  begged 
her  husband,  in  a  tone  ot  'esignation,  to  go 
on,  and  by  all  means  to  blaspheme  as  much 
as  possible,  because  he  knew  she  liked  it. 

The  locksmith  did  for  a  moment  seem 
disposed  to  gratify  her,  but  he  gave  a  great 
gulp,  and  mildly  rejoined: 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  what  on  earth  do 
you  call  it  unchristian  fori  Which  would 
be  most  unchristian,  Martha — to  sit  quietly 
down  and  let  our  houses  be  sacked  by  a 
foreign  army,  or  to  turn  out  like  men  and 
drive  'em  off!  Shouldn't  I  be  a  nice  sort 
of  a  Christian,  if  I  crept  into  a  corner  of 
my  own  chimney  and  looked  on  while  a 
parcel  of  whiskered  savages  bore  off  Dolly 
— or  you — "!" 

Whf     he  said  "  or  you,"  Mrs.  Varden, 


174 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


despite  herself,  relaxed  into  a  smile.  There 
was  something-  complimentary  in  the  idea. 
"  In  such  a  state  of  things  as  that,  in- 
deed— "  slie  simpered. 

"  As  that  !"  repeated  the  locksmith, 
"  Well,  that  would  be  the  state  of  thincrg 
directly.  Even  Miggs  would  go.  Some 
blaci<  tambourine-player,  with  a  great  tur- 
ban on,  would  be  bearing  her  oft',  and, 
unless  tlie  tambourine-player  was  proof 
against  kicking  and  scratching,  it's  my 
oelief  he'd  have  the  worst  of  it.  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  I  'd  forgive  the  tambourine-player. 
[  wouldn't  have  him  interfered  with  on  any 
account,  poor  fellow."  And  here  the  lock- 
smith laughed  again  so  heartily,  that  tears 
came  into  his  eyes — much  to  Mrs.  Varden's 
hidignation,  who  thought  the  capture  of  so 
sound  a  Protestant  and  estimable  a  private 
character  as  Miggs  by  a  pagan  negro,  a 
circumstance  too  shocking  and  awful  for 
contemplation. 

The  picture  Gabriel  had  drawn,  indeed, 
threatened  serious  consequences,  and  would 
indubitably  have  led  to  them,  but  luckily 
at  that  moment  a  light  footstep  crossed  the 
threshold,  and  Dolly,  running  in,  threw 
her  arms  round  her  old  father's  neck  and 
hugged  him  tight. 

"  Here  she  is  at  last !"  cried  Gabriel. 
"  And  how  well  you  look,  Doll,  and  how 
late  you  are,  my  darling  !" 

How  well  she  looked]  'Well?  Why, 
if  he  had  exhausted  every  laudatory  adjec- 
tive in  the  dictionary,  it  wouldn't  have  been 
praise  enough.  When  and  where  was  there 
ever  such  a  plump,  roguish,  comely,  bright- 
eyed,  enticing,  bewitchino-,  captivating, 
maddeninar  little  puss  in  all  this  world,  as 
Dolly  !  What  was  the  Dolly  of  five  years 
ago,  to  the  Dolly  of  that  day  !  How  many 
coachmakers,  saddlers,  cabinet-makers,  and 
professors  of  other  useful  arts,  had  deserted 
their  fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers,  and, 
most  of  all,  their  cousins,  tor  the  love  of 
her]  How  many  unknown  gentlemen — 
supposed  to  be  of  mighty  fortunes,  if  not 
titles — had  waited  round  the  corner  after 
dark,  and  templed  Miggs  the  incorruptible, 
with  golden  guineas,  to  deliver  offers  of 
marriage  folded  up  in  love-letters !  How 
many  disconsolate  fathers  and  substantial 
tradesmen  had  waited  on  the  locksmith  for 
the  same  purpose,  with  dismal  tales  of  how 
their  sons  had  lost  their  appetites,  and  taken 
to  shut  themselves  up  in  dark  bed-rooms, 
and  wandering  in  desolate  suburbs  with 
pale  faces,  and  all  because  of  Dolly  Var- 
den's loveliness  and  cruelty  !  How  many 
young  men,  in  all  previous  times  of  unpre- 
cedented steadiness,  had  turned  suddenly 
wild  and  wicked  for  the  same  reason,  and, 
tn  an  ecstasy  of  unrequited  love,  taken  to 


wrench  off  door-knockers,  and  invert  the 
boxes  of  rheumatic  watchmen  !  How  had 
she  recruited  the  king's  service,  both  by 
sea  and  land,  through  rendering  desperate 
his  loving  subjects  between  the  ages  of 
eighteen  and  twenty-five  !  How  many 
young  ladies  had  publicly  professed,  with 
tears  in  their  eyes,  that  for  their  tastes  she 
was  much  too  short,  too  tall,  too  bold,  too 
cold,  too  stout,  too  thin,  too  fair,  too  dark — too 
everything  but  handsome !  How  many  old 
ladies,  taking  counsel  together,  had  thank- 
ed Heaven  their  daughters  were  not  like 
her,  and  had  hoped  she  might  come  to  no 
harm,  and  had  thought  she  would  come  to 
no  good,  and  had  wondered  what  people 
saw  in  her,  and  had  arrived  at  the  conclu- 
sion that  she  was  "  going  off"  in  her  looks, 
or  had  never  come  on  in  them,  and  that 
she  was  a  thorough  imposition  and  a  popu- 
lar mistake  ! 

And  yet  here  was  this  same  Dolly  Var- 
den,  so  whimsical  and  hard  to  please  that 
she  was  Dolly  Varden  still,  all  smiles  and 
dimples  and  pleasant  looks,  and  caring  no 
more  for  the  fifty  or  sixty  young  fellows 
who  at  that  very  moment  were  breaking 
their  hearts  to  marry  her,  than  if  so  many 
oysters  had  been  crossed  in  love  and  open- 
ed afterwards. 

Dolly  hugged  her  father  as  has  been 
already  stated,  and  having  hugged  her  mo- 
ther also,  accompanied  both  into  the  little 
parlour  where  the  cloth  was  already  laid 
for  dinner,  and  where  Miss  Miggs — a  trifle 
more  rigid  and  bony  than  of  yore — received 
her  with  a  sort  of  hysterical  gasp,  intended 
for  a  smile.  Into  the  hands  of  that  young 
virgin,  she  delivered  her  bonnet  and  walk- 
ing dress  (all  of  a  dreadful,  artful,  and  de- 
signing kind),  and  then  said  with  a  laugh, 
which  rivalled  the  locksmith's  music, "  How 
glad  I  always  am  to  be  at  home  again  !" 

"And  how  glad  we  always  are,  Doll," 
said  her  father,  putting  back  the  dark  hail 
from  her  sparkling  eyes,  "to  have  you  at 
home  !     Give  me  a  kiss." 

If  there  had  been  anybody  of  the  male 
kind  there  to  see  her  do  it — but  there  was 
not — it  was  a  mercy. 

"  I  don't  like  your  being  at  the  Warren," 
said  the  locksmith,  "I  can't  bear  to  have 
you  out  of  my  sight.  And  what  is  the 
news  over  yonder,  Doll  V 

"  What  news  there  is,  I  think  you  know 
already,"  replied  his  daughter.  "  I  am  sure 
yon  do  though." 

"Ayl"  cried  the  locksmith.  "What's 
that?" 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Dolly,  "  you  know 
very  well.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  why  Mr 
Haredale — oh,  how  gruff  he  is  again,  to  be 
sure ! — has  been  away  from  home  for  some 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


176 


df  ys  past,  and  why  he  is  travelling  about 
(we  know  he  is  travelling,  because  of  his 
lettert^)  without  telling  his  own  niece  why 
or  wherefore." 

"  Miss  Emma  doesn't  want  to  know,  I  '11 
swear,"  returned  the  locksmith. 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Dolly ;  "but  / 
do,  at  any  rate.  Do  tell  me.  Why  is  he 
BO  secret,  and  what  is  this  ghost  story, 
which  nobody  is  to  tell  JMiss  Emma,  and 
wliich  seems  to  be  mixed  up  with  his  going 
away  1  New  I  see  you  know,  by  your  co- 
louring so." 

"  What  the  story  means,  or  is,  or  has  to 
do  with  it,  I  know  no  more  than  you,  my 
dear,"  returned  the  locksmith,  "except 
that  it's  some  foolish  fear  of  little  Solo- 
mon's— which  has,  indeed,  no  meaning  in 
it,  I  suppose.  As  to  Mr.  Haredale's  jour- 
ney, he  goes,  as  I  believe — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly. 

"As  I  believe,"  resumed  the  locksmith, 
pinching  her  cheek,  "on  business,  Doll. 
What  it  may  be,  is  quite  another  matter. 
Read  Blue  Beard,  and  don't  be  too  curious, 
pet ;  it 's  no  business  of  your's  or  mine,  de- 
pend upon  that;  and  here's  dinner,  which 
is  much  more  to  the  purpose." 

Dolly  might  have  remonstrated  against 
this  summary  dismissal  of  the  subject,  not- 
withstanding the  appearance  of  dinner,  but 
at  the  mention  of  Blue  Beard  Mrs.  Varden 
interposed,  protesting  she  could  not  find  it 
in  her  conscience  to  sit  tamely  by,  and 
hear  her  child  recommended  to  peruse  the 
adventures  of  a  Turk  and  Mussulman — 
far  less  of  a  fabulous  Turk,  which  she  con- 
sidered that  Potentate  to  be.  She  held 
tliat,  in  such  stirring  and  tremendous  times 
as  those  in  which  they  lived,  it  would  be 
much  more  to  the  purpose  if  Dolly  became 
a  regular  subscriber  to  the  Thunderer, 
where  she  would  have  an  opportunity  of 
reading  Lord  George  Gordon's  speeches 
word  for  word,  which  would  be  a  greater 
comfort  and  solace  to  her,  than  a  hundred 
and  fifty  Blue  Beards  ever  could  impart. 
She  appealed  in  support  of  this  proposition 
to  Miss  Miggs,  then  in  waiting,  who  said 
that  indeed  the  peace  of  mind  she  had  de- 
rived from  the  perusal  of  that  paper  gene- 
rally, but  especially  of  one  article  of  the 
very  last  week  as  ever  was,  entitled  "  Great 
Britain  drenched  in  gore,"  exceeded  all  be- 
lief; the  same  composition,  she  added,  had 
also  wrought  such  a  comforting  eflfect  on 
the  mind  of  a  married  sister  of  hers,  then 
resident  at  Golden  Lion  Court,  number 
twenty-sivin,  second  bell-handle  on  the 
right-hand  door-post,  that,  being  in  a  deli- 
cate state  of  health,  and  in  fact  expecting 
an  addition  to  her  family,  she  had  been 
seized  with  fits,  directly  after  its  perusal, 


and  had  raved  of  the  Inquisition  ever  since ; 
to  the  great  improvement  of  her  husband 
and  friends.  Miss  Miggs  went  on  to  say 
that  she  would  recommend  all  those  whose 
hearts  were  hardened  to  hear  Lord  George 
themselves,  whom  she  commended  first,  in 
respect  of  his  steady  Protestantism,  then 
of  his  oratory,  then  of  his  eyes,  then  of  his 
nose,  then  of  his  legs,  and  lastly  of  his  figure 
generally,  which  she  looked  upon  as  fit  for 
any  statue,  prince,  or  angel;  to  which  sen- 
timent Mrs.  Varden  fully  subscribed. 

Mrs.  Varden  having  cut  in,  looked  at  a 
box  upon  the  mantle-shelf,  painted  in  imi- 
tation of  a  very  red-brick  dwelling-house, 
with  a  yellow  roof;  having  at  top  a  real 
chimney,  down  which  voluntary  subscribers 
dropped  their  silver,  gold,  or  pence,  into 
the  parlour ;  and  on  the  door  the  counter- 
feit presentment  of  a  brass  plate,  whereon 
was  legibly  inscribed  "Protestant  Associa- 
tion :" — and  looking  at  it,  said,  that  it  was 
to  her  a  source  of  poignant  misery  to  think 
that  Varden  never  had,  of  all  his  substance, 
dropped  anything  into  that  temple,  save 
once  in  secret — as  she  afterwards  discover 
ed — two  fragments  of  tobacco-pipe,  which 
she  hoped  would  not  be  put  down  to  his 
last  account.  That  Dolly,  she  was  grieved 
to  say,  was  no  less  backward  in  her  contri- 
butions, better  loving,  as  it  seemed,  to  pur- 
chase ribbons  and  such  gauds,  than  to  en- 
courage the  great  cause,  then  in  such 
heavy  tribulation;  and  that  she  did  entreat 
her  (her  father  she  much  feared  could  not 
be  moved)  not  to  despise,  but  imitate,  the 
bright  example  of  Miss  Mig^gs,  who  flung 
her  wages,  as  it  were,  into  the  very  counte- 
nance of  the  Pope,  and  bruised  his  features 
with  her  quarter's  money. 

"Oh,  mim,"  said  Miggs,  "don't  relude 
to  that.  I  had  no  intentions,  mini,  that 
nobody  should  know.  Such  sacrifices  as  I 
can  make,  are  quite  a  widder's  mite.  It  'a 
all  I  have,"  cried  Miygs  with  a  great  burst 
of  tears — for  with  her  they  never  came  on 
by  degrees  —  "  but  it 's  made  up  to  me  in 
other  ways;  it's  well  made  up." 

This  was  quite  true,  though  not  perhaps 
in  the  sense  that  Miggs  intended.  As  she 
never  failed  to  keep  her  self-denial  full  in 
Mrs.  Varden's  view,  it  drew  forth  so  many 
gifts  of  caps  and  gowns  and  other  articles 
of  dress,  that  upon  the  whole  the  red-brick 
house  was  perhaps  the  best  investment  for 
her  small  capital  she  could  possibly  have 
hit  upon  ;  returning  her  interest,  at  the  rate 
of  seven  or  eight  per  cent,  in  money,  and 
fifty  at  least  in  personal  repute  and  credit. 

"You  needn't  cry,  Migirs,"  said  Mrs. 
Varden,  herself  in  tears;  "you  needn't  be 
ashamed  of  it,  thougli  your  poor  mistress 
is  on  the  same  side." 


176 


BATJNABY   RUDGE. 


M'lggs  howled  at  this  remark,  in  a  j  ccu- 
liarly  dismal  way,  and  said  she  knowed 
that  master  hated  her.  That  it  was  a 
dreadful  thing  to  live  in  families  and  have 
dislikes,  and  not  give  satisfactions.  That 
to  make  divisions  was  a  thing  she  could  not 
abear  to  think  of,  neither  could  her  feelings 
let  her  do  it.  That  if  it  was  master's 
wishes  as  she  and  him  should  part,  it  was 
best  they  should  part,  and  she  hoped  he 
might  be  the  happier  for  it,  and  always 
wishes  him  well,  and  that  he  might  find 
somebody  as  would  meet  his  dispositions. 
It  would  be  a  hard  trial,  she  said,  to  part 
from  such  a  missis,  but  she  could  meet  any 
Buffering  when  her  conscience  told  her  she 
was  in  the  rights,  and  therefore  she  was 
willing  even  to  go  that  lengths.  She  did 
not  think,  slie  added,  that  she  could  long 
survive  the  separations,  but,  as  she  was 
hated  and  looked  upon  unpleasant,  perhaps 
her  dying  as  soon  as  possible  would  be  the 
best  endings  for  all  parties.  With  this 
affecting  conclusion,  Miss  Miggsshed  more 
tears,  and  sobbed  abundantly. 

"Can  you  bear  this,  Varden?"  said  his 
wife  in  a  solemn  voice,  laying  down  her 
knife  and  fork. 

"  Why,  not  very  well,  my  dear,"  rejoin- 
ed the  locksmitli,  "  but  I  try  to  keep  my 
temper." 

"Don't  let  there  be  words  on  my  ac- 
count, mim,"  sobbed  Miggs.  "It's  much 
the  best  that  we  should  part.  I  wouldn't 
stay — oh,  gracious  me! — and  make  dissen- 
sions, not  fbr  a  annual  gold  mine,  and  found 
in  tea  and  sugar." 

Lest  the  reader  should  be  at  any  loss  to 
discover  the  cause  of  Miss  Miggs's  deep 
emotion,  it  may  be  whispered  apart  that, 
happening  to  be  listening,  as  her  custom 
sometimes  was,  when  Gabriel  and  his  wife 
conversed  together,  she  had  heard  the  lock- 
smith's joke  relative  to  the  foreign  black 
who  played  the  tambourine,  and  bursting 
with  the  spiteful  feelings  which  the  taunt 
awoke  in  her  fair  breast,  exploded  in  the 
manner  we  have  witnessed.  Matters  hav- 
ing now  arrived  at  a  crisis,  the  locksmith 
as  usual,  and  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness,  gave  in. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for,  girl  ?"  he 
said.  "  What 's  the  matter  with  you ! 
What  are  you  talking  about  hatred  for !  / 
don't  hate  you  ;  I  don't  hate  anybody.  Dry 
your  eyes  and  make  yourself  agreeable,  in 
Heaven's  name,  and  let  us  all  be  happy 
while  we  can.' 

Tne  allied  powers  deeming  it  good  gen- 
eralship to  consider  this  a  .sufficient  apology 
un  the  part  of  the  enemy,  and  confession 
of  having  been  in  the  wrong,  did  dry  their 
eves  and  take  it  in  good  part.     Miss  Miggs 


observed  that  she  bore  no  malice,  no  not  to 

her  greatest  foe,  whom  she  rather  loved  the- 
more  indeed,  the  greater  persecution  she 
sustained.  Mrs.  Varden  approved  of  this 
meek  and  forgiving  spirit  in  high  terms, 
and  incidentally  declared  as  a  closing 
article  of  agreement,  that  Dolly  should  ac- 
company her  to  the  Clerkenwell  branch  of 
the  association,  that  very  night.  This  was 
an  extraordinary  instance  of  her  great  pru- 
dence and  policy  ;  having  had  this  end  in 
view  from  the  first,  and  entertaining  a 
secret  misgiving  that  the  locksmith  (who 
was  bold  when  Dolly  was  in  question) 
would  object,  she  had  backed  Miss  Miggs 
up  to  this  point,  in  order  that  she  might 
have  him  at  a  disadvantage.  The  man- 
oeuvre succeeded  so  well  that  Gabriel  only 
made  a  wry  face,  and  with  the  warning  he 
had  just  had,  fresh  in  liis  mind,  did  not  dare 
to  say  one  word. 

The  difference  ended,  therefore,  in  Miggs 
being  presented  with  a  gown  by  Mrs.  Var- 
den and  a  half-a-crown  by  Dolly,  as  if  she 
had  eminently  distinguished  herself  in  the 
paths  of  morality  and  goodness.  Mrs.  V., 
according  to  custom,  expressed  her  hope 
that  Varden  would  take  a  lesson  from  what 
had  passed  and  learn  more  generous  con- 
duct for  the  time  to  come;  and  the  dinner 
being  now  cold  and  nobody's  appetite  very 
much  improved  by  what  had  passed,  they 
went  on  with  it,  as  Mrs.  Varden  said,  "  like 
Christians." 

As  there  was  to  be  a  grand  parade  of  the 
Royal  East  London  Volunteers  that  after- 
noon, the  locksmith  did  no  more  work;  but 
sat  down  comfortably  with  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  his  arm  round  his  pretty  daugh- 
ter's waist,  looking  lovingly  on  Mrs.  V. 
from  time  to  time,  and  exhibiting  from  the 
crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot, 
one  smiling  surface  of  good-humour.  And 
to  be  sure,  when  it  was  time  to  dress  him 
in  his  regimentals,  and  Dolly,  hanging 
about  him  in  all  kinds  of  graceful  winning 
ways,  helped  to  button  and  buckle  and 
brush  him  up  and  get  him  into  one  of  the 
tightest  coats  that  ever  was  made  by  mor- 
tal tailor,  he  was  the  proudest  father  in  ail 
England. 

"  What  a  handy  jade  it  is !"  said  the 
locksmith  to  Mrs.  Varden,  who  stood  by 
with  folded  hands  —  rather  proud  of  her 
husband  too  —  while  Miggs  held  his  cap 
and  sword  at  arm's  length,  as  if  mistrust- 
ing that  the  latter  might  run  some  one 
through  the  body  of  its  own  accord  ;  "  but 
never  marry  a  soldier  Doll,  my  dear." 

Dolly  didn't  ask  why  not,  or  say  a  word 
indeed,  but  stooped  her  head  down  very  low 
to  tie  his  sash. 
"  I  never'  wear  this  dress,"  said  honest 


m 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


177 


Gabriel,  "  but  I  think  of  poor  Joe  Willet. 
I  loved  Joe;  he  was  always  a  favourite  of 
mine.  Poor  Joe  !  —  Dear  heart,  my  girl, 
don't  tie  me  in  so  tight." 

Dolly  laughed — not  like  herself  at  all — 
the  strangest  little  laugh  that  could  he  — 
and  held  her  head  down  lower  still. 

"Poor  Joe!"  resumed  the  locksmith, 
muttering  to  himself;  "  I  always  wish  he 
had  come  to  me.  I  might  have  made  it  up 
between  them,  if  he  had.  Ah  !  old  John 
made  a  great  mistake  in  his  way  of  acting 
by  that  lid  —  a  great  mistake. — Have  you 
nearly  tied  that  sash,  my  dear!" 

What  an  ill-made  sash  it  was!  There 
it  was,  loose  again  and  trailing  on  the 
ground.  Dolly  was  obliged  to  kneel  down, 
and  recommence  at  the  beginning. 

"Never  mind  young  Willet,  Varden," 
said  his  wife  frowning;  "you  might  find 
some  one  more  deserving  to  talk  about,  I 
think." 

Miss  Miggs  gave  a  great  sniff  to  the 
same  cfft'ct. 

"  Nay,  Martha,"  cried  the  locksmith, 
"don't  let  us  bear  too  hard  upon  him.  If 
tlie  lad  is  dead  indeed,  we  '11  deal  kindly 
by  his  memory." 

"  A  runaway  and  a  vagabond  !"  said  Mrs. 
Varden. 

Miss  Miggs  expressed  her  concurrence 
as  before. 

"  A  runaway,  ray  dear,  but  not  a  vaga- 


bond," returned  the  locksmith  in  a  gentle 
tone.  "  He  behaved  himself  well,  did  Joe 
— always — and  was  a  handsome  manly  fel- 
low.    Don't  call  him  a  vagabond,  Martha." 

Mrs.  Varden  coughed — and  so  did  Miggs. 

"  He  tried  hard  to  gain  your  good  opin- 
ion, Martha,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  the  lock- 
smith smiling,  and  stroking  his  chin.  "Ah  ! 
that  he  did.  It  seems  but  yesterday  that 
he  followed  me  out  to  the  Maypole  door 
one  night,  and  begged  me  not  to  say  how 
like  a  boy  they  used  him  —  say  here,  at 
home,  he  meant,  though  at  the  time,  I  re- 
collect, I  didn't  understand.  'And  how's 
Miss  Dolly,  sir?'  says  Joe,"  pursued  the 
locksmith,  musing  sorrowfully,  "Ah!  poor 
Joe  !" 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  cried  Miggs.  " Oh! 
Goodness  gracious  me !" 

"  What 's  the  matter  now  ?"  .said  Gabriel, 
turning  sharply  to  her. 

"  Why,  if  here  an't  Miss  Dolly,"  said 
the  handmaid,  stooping  down  to  look  into 
her  face,  "a  giving  way  to  floods  of  tears. 
Oh,  mim  !  oh,  sir.  Raly  it 's  give  me  such 
a  turn,"  cried  the  susceptible  damsel,  press- 
ing her  hand  upon  her  side  to  quell  the 
palpitation  of  her  heart,  "that  you  might 
knock  me  down  with  a  feather," 

The  locksmith,  after  glancing  at  Mis-s 
Miggs  as  if  he  could  have  wished  to  have 
a  feather  brought  straightway,  "ooked  on 
with   a  broad  stare  while  Dolly  hurripo 


178 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


away,  followed  by  that  sympathising  young 
woman  :  then  turning  to  his  wife,  stam- 
mered out,  "Is  Dolly  ill  ]  Have  /  done 
anything]     Is  it  my  fault?" 

"  Your  fault:"  cried  Mrs.  V.  reproachful- 
.y.  "  There  — You  had  better  make  haste 
out." 

"  What  have  I  done"!"  said  poor  Gabriel. 
"It  was  agreed  that  Mr.  Edward's  name 
was  never  to  be  mentioned,  and  I  have  not 
Bpoken  of  him,  have  I  V 

Mrs.  Varden  merely  ':plied  that  she  had 
no  patience  with  him,  and  bounced  off  after 
the  other  two.     The  unfortunate  locksmith 


wound  his  sash  about  hitn,  girded  on  his 
sword,  put  on  his  cap,  and  walked  out. 

"  I  am  not  much  of  a  <lab  at  my  exer- 
cise," he  said,  under  his  breath,  "  but  I 
shall  get  into  fewer  scrapes  at  that  work 
than  at  this.  Every  man  came  into  the 
world  for  something;  my  department  seema 
to  be  to  make  every  woman  cry  without 
meaning  it.     It's  ratlier  hard  !" 

But  he  forgot  it  before  he  reached  the 
end  of  the  street,  and  went  on  with  a  shin- 
ing face,  nodding  to  the  neighbours,  and 
showering  about  his  friendly  greetings  like 
mild  spring  rain. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-SECOND. 


The  Royal  East  London  Volunteers  made 
a  brilliant  sight  that  day  :  formed  into  lines, 
squares,  circles,  triangles,  and  what  not,  to 
the  beating  of  drums  and  the  streaming  of 
flags ;  and  performed  a  vast  number  of  com- 
plex evolutions,  in  all  of  which  Serjeant 
Varden  bore  a  conspicuous  share.  Having 
displayed  their  military  prowess  to  the  ut- 
most in  these  warlike  shows,  they  marched 
in  glittering  order  to  the  Chelsea  Bun- 
house,  and  regaled  in  the  adjacent  taverns 
antil  dark.  Then  at  sound  of  drum  they 
fell  in  aofain,  and  returned  amidst  the  shout- 
ings of  His  Majesty's  lieges  to  the  place 
from  whence  they  came. 

The  homeward  march  being  somewhat 
tardy,  —  owing  to  the  un-soldierlike  beha- 
viour of  cprtain  corporals,  who,  being  gen- 
tlemen of  sedentary  pursuits  in  private  life 
and  excitable  out  of  doors,  broke  several 
windows  with  their  bayonets,  and  rendered 
it  imperative  on  the  commanding  officer  to 
deliver  them  over  to  a  strong  guard,  with 
whom  they  fought  at  intervals  as  they  came 
along, — it  was  nine  o'clock  when  the  lock- 
smith reached  home.  A  hackney-coach 
was  waiting  near  his  door;  and  as  he  pass- 
ed it,  Mr.  llaredale  looked  from  the  window 
and  called  him  by  his  name. 

"  The  siofht  of  you  is  good  for  sore  eyes, 
sir,"  said  the  locksmith,  stepping  up  to  him. 
"I  wi^h  yi.u  hiiil  Vs-alked  in  though,  rather 
than  waited  here." 

"  There  is  nobody  at  home,  I  find,"  Mr. 
Haredale  answered  ;  "  besides,  I  desired  to 
be  as  private  as  I  could." 

"  Humph  !"  muttered  the  locksmith,  look- 
ing round  at  his  house.  "Gone  with  Si- 
mon Tappertit  to  Ihat  precious  Branch,  no 
doubt  *■ 


Mr.  Haredale  invited  him  to  come  into 
the  coach,  and,  if  he  were  not  tired  or  anx- 
ious to  go  home,  to  ride  with  him  a  little 
way  that  they  might  have  some  talk  to- 
gether. Gabriel  cheerfully  complied,  and 
the  coachman  mounting  his  box  drove  off. 

"  Varden,"  said  Mr.  Haredale  after  a 
minute's  pause,  "you  will  be  amazed  to 
hear  what  errand  I  am  on;  it  will  seem  a 
very  strange  one." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  it's  a  reasonable  one, 
sir,  and  has  a  meaning  in  it,"  replied  thf 
locksmith;  or  it  would  not  be  yours  at  all. 
Have  you  just  come  back  to  town,  sir]" 

"But  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Bringing  no  news  of  Barnaby,  or  his 
mother]"  said  the  locksmith  dubiously. 
"Ah!  you  needn't  shake  your  head,  sir. 
It  was  a  wild-goose  chase.  I  feared  that, 
from  the  first.  You  exhausted  all  reason- 
able means  of  discovery  when  they  went 
away.  To  begin  again  after  so  long  a 
time  has  passed  is  hopeless,  sir — quite  hope- 
less." 

"Why,  where  are  they]"  he  returned 
impatiently  "  Where  can  they  be  ]  Above 
ground  ]" 

"God  knows,"  rejoined  the  locksmith, 
"  many  that  I  knew  above  it  five  years  ago, 
have  their  beds  under  the  grass  now.  And 
the  world  is  a  wide  place.  It's  a  hopeless 
attempt,  sir,  believe  nie.  V.'o  nust  leave 
the  discovery  of  this  mystery,  like  all 
others,  to  time,  and  accident,  and  Heaven's 
pleasure." 

"Varden,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  "I  have  a  deeper  meaning  in 
my  present  anxiety  to  find  them  out,  than 
you  can  fathom.  It  is  not  a  mere  whim ; 
it  is  not  the  casual  revival  of  my  old  wish- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


179 


C3  and  desires ;  but  an  earnest,  solemn  pur- 
pose. My  ihoufflUs  and  dreams  all  tend  to 
it,  and  fix  it  in  iny  mind.  I  have  no  rest 
by  day  or  night;  1  have  no  peace  or  luiet; 
I  am  haunted." 

His  voice  was  so  altered  from  its  usual 
tones,  and  his  manner  bespoke  so  much 
emotion,  that  Gabriel,  in  his  wonder,  could 
only  sit  and  look  towards  him  in  the  dark- 
ness, and  fancy  the  expression  of  his  face. 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  continued  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  "  to  explain  myself.  If  I  were_  to  do 
BO,  you  would  think  me  the  victim  of  some 
hideous  fancy.  It  is  enoug-h  that  this  is  so, 
and  that  I  cannot — no,  I  can  not — lie  qui- 
etly in  my  bed,  without  doing  what  will 
seem  to  you  incomprehensible." 

"Since  when,  sir,"  said  the  locksmith, 
after  a  pause,  "  has  this  uneasy  feeling  been 
upon  you  ]" 

Mr.  Haredale  hesitated  for  some  mo- 
ments, and  then  replied:  "Since  the  night 
of  the  storm.  In  short,  since  the  last  nine- 
teenth of  March." 

As  though  he  feared  that  Varden  might 
express  surprise,  or  reason  with  him,  he 
hastily  went  on : 

"  You  will  think,  I  know,  I  labour  under 
some  delusion.  Perhaps  I  do.  But  it  is 
not  a  morbid  one ;  it  is  a  wholesome  action 
of  the  mind,  reasoning  on  actual  occur- 
rences. You  know  the  furniture  remains 
in  Mrs.  Rudge's  house,  and  that  it  has  been 
shut  up,  by  my  orders,  since  she  went  away, 
save  once  a-week  or  so,  when  an  old  neigh- 
bour visits  it  to  scare  away  the  rats.  I  am 
on  my  way  there  now." 

"For  what  purpose?"  asked  the  lock- 
smith. 

"To  pass  the  night  there,"  he  replied  ; 
"and  not  to-night  alone,  but  many  nights. 
This  is  a  secret  which  I  trust  to  you  in 
case  of  any  unexpected  emergency.  You 
will  not  come,  unless  in  case  of  strong  ne- 
cessity, to  me;  from  dusk  to  broad  day,  I 
shall  be  there.  Emma,  your  daughter,  and 
the  re^t,  suppose  me  out  of  London,  as  I 
have  Deen  until  within  this  hour.  Do  not 
undeceive  them.  This  is  the  errand  I  am 
bound  upon.  I  know  I  may  confide  it  to 
you,  and  I  rely  upon  your  questioning  me 
no  furtlier  at  this  time." 

With  that,  as  if  to  change  the  theme,  he 
led  the  astounded  locksmith  back  to  the 
night  of  th"  M:ivpo!'>  highwayman,  to  tlie 
robbery  of  Edward  Chester,  to  the  reap- 
pearance of  the  man  at  Mrs.  Rudge's  housf^, 
and  to  all  the  stninoe  circumstances  which 
afterwards  occurrpd.  He  even  asked  him 
carelessly  about  the  man's  height,  his  face, 
his  figure,  whether  he  was  like  any  one  he 
had  ever  seen — like  Hugh,  for  instance,  or 
any  man  he  had  known  at  any  time — and 
put  many  questions  of  that  sort,  which  the 


locksmith,  considering  them  as  mere  de- 
vices to  engage  his  attention  and  prevent 
his  expressing  the  astonishment  he  felt, 
answered  pretty  much  at  random. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  the  corner  of 
the  street'~in  which  the  house  stood,  where 
Mr.  Haredale,  alighting,  dismissed  the 
coach.  "  If  you  desire  to  see  me  safely 
lodged,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  locksmith 
with  a  gloomy  smile,  "you  can." 

Gabriel,  to  whom  all  former  marvels  Lad 
been  nothing  in  comparison  with  this,  fol- 
lowed him  along  the  narrow  pavement  n 
silence.  When  they  reached  the  door,  Mr, 
Haredale  softly  opened  it  with  a  key  hi' 
had  about  him,  and  closing  it  when  Vardeii 
entered,  they  were  left  in  thorough  dark- 
ness. 

They  groped  their  way  into  the  ground- 
floor  room.  Here  Mr.  Haredale  struck  a 
light,  and  kindled  a  pocket-taper  he  had 
brought  with  him  for  the  purpose.  It  was 
then, When  the  flame  was  full  upon  him, 
that  the  locksmith  saw  for  the  first  time 
how  haggard,  pale,  and  changed  he  looked; 
how  worn  and  thin  he  was;  how  perfectly 
his  whole  appearance  coincided  with  all 
that  he  had  said  so  strangely  as  they  rode 
along.  It  was  not  an  unnatural  impulse 
in  Gabriel,  after  what  he  had  heard,  to  note 
curiously  the  expression  of  his  eyes.  It 
was  perfectly  collected  and  rational ; — so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  he  felt  ashamed  of 
his  momentary  suspicion,  and  drooped  his 
own  when  Mr.  Haredale  looked  towards 
him,  as  if  he  feared  they  would  betray  his 
thoughts. 

"  Will  you  walk  through  the  house  ?" 
said  Mr.  Haredale,  with  a  glance  towards 
the  window,  the  crazy  shutters  of  which 
were  closed  and  fastened.     "  Speak  low." 

There  was  a  kind  of  awe  about  the  place, 
which  would  have  rendered  it  difficult  to 
speak  in  any  other  manner,    Gabriel  whis- 
pered "Yes*"  and  followed  him  up  stairs. 
I      Everything  was  just  as  they  had  seen  U 
last.     There  was  a  sense  of  closeness  from 
the  exclusion  of  fresh  air,  and  a  gloom  and 
:  heaviness  around,  as  though  long  impripf)n- 
'  ment  had  made  the  very  silence  sad.     The 
I  homely  hangings  of  the  beds  and  windows 
had   begun   to  droop;    the  dust   lay  thick 
i  upon  their  dwindling  folds;  and  damps  had 
tiiidf  til' ir  wp.y  through  ceiling,  uull,  i.m! 
floor.     The  boards   creaked  b>Mieath  their 
tread  as  if  resenting  the  unarcustoined  in- 
trusir)n  ;  nimble  spiders,  paralysed  by  the 
taper's  glare,  checked  the  motion  of  their 
hundred  legs  upon  the  wall,  or  dropped  like 
lifeless  things  upon  the  ground;  tlie  death 
watch  ticked  aloud;    and  the  scampering 
feet  of  rats  and  mice  rattled  behind  the 
wainscot. 


180 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


As  they  looked  about  them  on  the  decay- 
ing furniture,  it  was  strange  to  find  how 
vividly  it  presented  those  to  whom  it  had 
belonged,    and    with    whom    it   was   once 
familiar.    Grip  seemed  to  perch  again  upon 
his  high-backed  chair;  Barnaby  to  crouch  j 
in  his  old  favourite  corner  by  the  fire ;  the 
mother  to  resume  her  usual  seat,  and  watch 
him  as  of  old.     Even  when  they  could  se-  i 
parate  tliese  objects  from  the  pliantoms  of  | 
the   mind  whicli  they  invoked,  the  latter  [ 
only  glided  out  of  sight,  but  lingered  near 
them  still;  for  then  they  seemed  to  lurk  in 
closets  and  behind  the  doors,  ready  to  start 
out  and  suddenly  accost  them  in  their  well- 
remembered  tones. 

They  went  down  stairs,  and  again  into 
the  room  they  had  just  now  left.  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  unbuckled  his  sword  and  laid  it  on  the 
table,  with  a  pair  of  pocket-pistols;  then 
told  the  locksmith  he  would  light  him  to  ; 
the  door.  j 

"  But  this  is  a  dull  place,  sir,"  said  Ga- 
briel, lingering;  "may  no  one  share  your  i 
watch !"  I 

He  shook  his  head,  and  so  plainly  evinced  | 


his  wish  to  be  alone,  that  Gabriel  could  say 
no  more.  In  another  moment  the  locksmith 
was  standing  in  the  street,  whence  he  could 
see  that  the  light  once  more  travelled  up 
stairs,  and  soon  returning  to  the  room  be- 
low, shone  brightly  through  the  chinks  in 
the  shutters. 

If  ever  man  were  sorely  puzzled  and 
perplexed,  the  locksmith  was,  that  night. 
Even  when  snugly  seated  by  his  own  fire- 
side, witii  Mrs.  Varden  opposite  in  a  night- 
cap anu  night-jacket,  and  Dolly  beside  him 
(in  a  most  distracting  dishabille)  curling 
her  hair,  and  smiling  as  if  she  had  never 
cried  in  all  her  life  and  never  could — even 
then,  with  Toby  at  his  elbow  and  his  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  and  Miggs  (but  that  perhaps 
was  not  much)  falling  asleep  in  the  back- 
ground, he  could  not  quite  discard  his  won- 
der and  uneasiness.  So,  in  his  dreams — 
still  there  was  Mr.  Haredale,  haggard  and 
careworn,  listening  in  the  solitary  house  to 
every  sound  that  stirred,  with  the  taper 
shining  through  the  chinks  until  the  day 
should  turn  it  pale  and  end  his  lonely 
watching. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


181 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-THIRD 


Next  morning  brought  no  satisfaction 
*o  the  locksmith's  thoughts,  nor  next  day, 
nor  the  next,  nor  many  others.  Often  after 
nightfall  he  entered  the  street,  and  turned 
nis  eyes  towards  the  well-known  house; 
and  as  surely  as  he  did  so,  there  was  the 
solitary  light,  still  gleaming  through  the 
crevices  of  the  windoW-shutter,  while  all 
within  was  motionless,  noiseless,  cheerless, 
as  a  grave.  Unwilling  to  hazard  Mr.  Hare- 
dale's  favour  by  disobeying  his  strict  in- 
junction, he  never  ventured  to  knock  at 
the  door  or  to  make  his  presence  known  in 
any  way.  But  whenever  strong  interest 
and  curiosity  attracted  him  to  the  spot  — 
which  was  not  seldom  —  the  light  was  al- 
ways there. 

If  he  could  have  known  what  passed 
within,  the  knowledge  would  have  yielded 
him  no  clue  to  this  mysterious  vigil.  At 
twilight,  Mr.  Haredale  shut  himself  up, 
and  at  day-break  he  came  forth.  He  never 
missed  a  night,  always  came  and  went 
alone,  and  never  varied  his  proceedings  in 
the  least  degree. 

The  manner  of  his  watch  was  this.  At 
dusk,  he  entered  the  house  in  the  same 
way  as  when  the  locksmith  bore  him  com- 
pany, kindled  a  light,  went  through  the 
rooms,  and  narrowly  examined  them.  That 
done,  he  returned  to  the  chamber  on  the 
ground-floor,  and  laying  his  sword  and  pis- 
tols on  the  table,  sat  by  it  until  morning 

He  Usually  had  a  book  with  him,  and  of- 
ten tried  to  read,  but  never  fixed  his  eyes 
or  thoughts  upon  it  for  five  minutes  toge- 
ther. The  slightest  noise  without  doors, 
caught  his  ear ;  a  step  upon  the  pavement 
seemed  to  make  his  heart  leap. 

He  was  not  without  some  refreshment 
during  the  long  lonely  hours;  generally 
carrying  in  his  pocket  a  sandwich  of  bread 
and  meat,  and  a  small  flask  of  wine.  The 
latter,  diluted  with  large  quantities  of  wa- 
ter, he  drank  in  a  heated,  feverish  way,  as 
though  his  throat  were  dried  up;  but  he 
scarcely  ever  broke  his  fast,  by  so  much  as 
a  crum  of  bread. 

If  this  voluntary  sacrifice  of  sleep  and 
comfort  had  its  origin,  as  the  locksmith  on 
consideration  was  disposed  to  think,  in  any 
superstitious  expectation  of  the  fulfilment 
of  a  dream  or  vision  connected  with  the 
event  on  which  he  had  broodeu  .c"  '''^  many 
years;  and  if  he  waited  fur  some  gno.sily 
visiter  who  walked  abroad  when  men  lay 
sleeping  in  their  beds;  he  showed  no  trace 
of  fear  or  wavering.  His  stern  features 
expressed  the  most  inflexible  resolution ; 
12 


his  brows  were  puckered,  and  his  lips  com- 
pressed  with  deep  and  settled  purpose  ;  and 
when  he  started  at  a  noise  and  listened,  it 
was  not  with  the  start  of  fear  but  hope,  and 
catching  up  his  sword  as  though  the  hour 
had  come  at  last,  he  would  clutch  it  in  his 
tight-clenched  hand,  and  listen  with  spark- 
ling eyes  and  eager  looks,  until  it  died 
away. 

These  disappointments  were  numerous, 
for  they  ensued  on  almost  every  sound,  but 
his  constancy  was  not  shaken.  Still,  every 
night  he  was  at  his  post,  the  same  stern, 
sleepless,  sentinel ;  and  still  night  passed  and 
morning  dawned,  and  he  must  watch  again. 

This  went  on  for  weeks;  he  had  taken  a 
lodging  at  Vauxhall  in  which  to  pass  the 
day  and  rest  himself;  and  from  this  place, 
when  the  tide  served,  he  usually  came  to 
London  Bridge  from  Westminster  by  wa- 
ter, in  order  that  he  might  avoid  the  busy 
streets. 

One  evening,  shortly  before  twilight,  he 
came  to  his  accustomed  road  upon  the 
river's  bank,  intending  to  pass  through 
Westminster  Hall  into  Palace  Yard,  and 
there  take  boat  to  London  Bridge  as  usual. 
There  was  a  pretty  large  concourse  of  peo- 
ple assembled  round  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, lookmg  at  the  members  as  they  en- 
tered and  departed,  and  giving  vent  tc 
rather  noisy  demonstrations  of  approval  or 
dislike,  according  to  their  known  opinions. 
As  he  made  his  way  among  the  throng,  he 
heard  once  or  twice  the  No-Popery  cry, 
which  was  then  becoming  pretty  familiar 
to  the  ears  of  most  men  ;  but  holding  it  in 
very  slight  regard,  and  observing  that  the 
idlers  were  of  the  lowest  grade,  he  neither 
thought  nor  cared  about  it,  but  made  his 
way  along,  with  perfect  indifference. 

There  were  many  little  knots  and  groups 
of  persons  in  Westminster  Hall  :  some  few 
looking  upward  at  its  noble  ceiling,  and  at 
the  rays  of  evening  light,  tinted  by  the 
setting  sun,  which  streamed  in  aslant 
through  its  small  windows,  and  growing 
dimmer  by  degrees,  were  quenched  in  the 
gathering  gloom  below;  some,  noisy  pas- 
sengers, mechanics  going  home  from  work 
and  otherwise,  who  hurried  quickly  through 
waking  the  echoes  with  their  voices,  and 
soon  darkening  the  small  door  in  the  dis- 
tance, as  they  passed  into  the  street  be- 
yond ;  some,  in  busy  conference  togetner 
on  political  or  private  matters,  pacing  sic  w- 
ly  up  and  down  with  eyes  that  sought  the 
ground,  and  seeming,  by  their  attitudes,  to 
listen  earnestly  from  head  to  foot.     Here, 


183 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


a  dozen  squabbling  urcbins  made  a  very 
Babel  in  the  air ;  there,  a  solitary  man, 
half  clerk,  half  mendicant,  paced  up  and 
down  with  hungry  dejection  in  his  look  and 
gait;  at  his  elbow  passed  an  errand-lad, 
swinging  his  basket  round  and  round,  and 
with  his  shrill  whistle  riving  the  very  tim- 
bers of  the  roof;  while  a  more  observant 
schoolboy,  half-way  through,  pocketed  his 
ball,  and  eyed  the  distant  beadle  as  he 
came  looming  on.  It  was  that  time  of 
evening  when,  if  you  shut  your  eyes  and 
open  them  again,  the  darkness  of  an  hour 
appears  to  have  gathered  in  a  second.  The 
smooth-worn  pavement,  dusty  with  foot- 
steps, still  called  upon  the  lofty  walls  to 
reiterate  the  shuffle  and  the  tread  of  feet 
unceasingly,  save  when  the  closing  of  some 
heavy  door  resounded  through  the  building 
like  a  clap  of  thunder,  and  drowned  all 
other  noises  in  its  rolling  sound. 

Mr.  Haredale,  glancing  only  at  such  of 
these  groups  as  he  passed  nearest  to,  and 
then  in  a  manner  betokening  that  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere,  had  nearly  tra- 
versed the  Hall,  when  two  persons  before 
him  caught  his  attention.  One  of  these,  a 
gentleman  in  elegant  attire,  carried  in  his 
hand  a  cane,  which  he  twirled  in  a  jaunty 


manner  as  he  loitered  on ;  and  the  other, 

an  obsequious,  crouching,  fawning  figure, 
listened  to  what  he  said  —  at  times  throw- 
ing in  an  humble  word  himself — and,  with 
his  shoulders  shrugged  up  to  his  ears,  rub- 
bed his  hands  submissively,  or  answered  at 
intervals  by  an  inclination  of  the  head,  half- 
way between  a  nod  of  acquiescence,  and  a 
bow  of  most  profound  respect. 

In  the  abstract  there  was  nothing  very 
remarkable  in  this  pair,  for  servility  wait- 
ing on  a  handsome  suit  of  clothes  and  a 
cane — not  to  speak  of  gold  and  silver  sticks, 
or  wands  of  office  —  is  common  enough. 
But  there  was  that  about  the  well-dressed 
man,  yes,  and  about  the  other  likewise, 
which  struck  Mr.  Haredale  with  no  plea- 
sant feeling.  He  hesitated,  stopped,  and 
would  have  stepped  aside  and  turned  out 
of  his  path,  but  at  the  moment  the  other 
two  faced  about  quickly,  and  stumbled  upon 
him  before  he  could  avoid  them. 

Tiie  gentleman  with  the  cane  lifted  his 
hat  and  had  begun  to  tender  an  apology, 
wliich  Mr.  Haredale  had  begun  as  hastily 
to  acknowledge  and  walk  away,  when  he 
stopped  short  and  cried,  "  Haredale !  Gad 
bless  me,  this  is  strange  indeed  1" 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


183 


••It  is."  he  returned  impatiently;  "yes 
i--a " 

"  My  dear  friend,"  cried  the  other,  de- 
taining him,  "why  such  great  speed?  One 
minute,  Harcdale,  for  the  sake  of  old  ac- 
quaintance." 

"I  am  in  haste,"  he  said.  "Neither  of 
us  has  sought  this  meeting.  Let  it  be  a  brief 
one.     Good  night!" 

"Fy,  fy!"  replied  Sir  John  (for  it  was 
he,)  "  how  very  churlish !  We  were  speak- 
ing of  you.  Your  name  was  on  my  lips — 
perhaps  you  heard  me  mention  it  1  No?  I 
am  sorry  for  that.  I  am  really  sorry. — 
You  know  our  friend  here,  Haredale  1  This 
is  really  a  most  remarkable  meeting !" 

The  friend,  plainly  very  ill  at  ease,  had 
made  bold  to  press  Sir  John's  arm,  and  to 
give  him  other  significant  hints  that  he  was 
desirous  of  avoiding  this  introduction.  As 
it  did  not  suit  Sir  John's  purpose,  however, 
that  it  should  be  evaded,  he  appeared  quite 
unconscious  of  these  silent  remonstrances, 
and  inclined  his  hand  towards  him  as  he 
spoke,  to  call  attention  to  him  more  partic- 
ularly. 

The  friend,  therefore,  had  nothing  for  it, 
but  to  muster  up  the  pleasantest  smile  he 
could,  and  to  make  a  conciliatory  bow,  as 
Mr.  Haredale  turned  his  eyes  upon  him. 
Seeing  that  he  was  recognised,  he  put  out 
his  hand  in  an  awkward  and  embarrassed 
manner,  which  was  not  mended  by  its  con- 
temptuous rejection. 

"  Mr.  Gashford  !"  said  Haredale,  coldly. 
"It  is  as  I  have  hoard  then.  You  have  left 
the  darkness  for  the  light,  sir,  and  hale 
those  whose  opinions  you  formerly  held, 
with  all  the  bitterness  of  a  renegade.  You 
are  an  honour,  sir,  to  any  cause.  I  wish 
the  one  you  espouse  at  present,  much  joy 
of  the  acquisition  it  has  made." 

The  secretary  rubbed  his  hands  and  bow- 
ed, as  though  he  would  disarm  his  adversa- 
ry by  humbling  himself  before  him.  Sir 
John  Chester  again  exclaimed,  with  an  air 
of  great  gaiety,  "  Now,  really,  this  is  a  most 
remarkable  meeting !"  and  took  a  pinch  of 
snufF  witii  his  usual  self-possession. 

"Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Gashford,  stealthily 
raising  his  eyes,  and  letting  them  drop  again 
when  they  met  the  other's  steady  gaze,  "  is 
too  conscientious,  too  honourable,  too  manly, 
I  am  sure,  to  attach  unworthy  motives  to  an 
honest  change  of  opinions,  even  though  it 
implies  a  doubt  of  those  he  holds  himself. 
Mr.  Haredale  is  too  just,  too  generous,  too 
clear-sighted  in  his  moral  vision,  to " 

"  Yes,  sir  !"  he  rejoined  with  a  sarcastic 
smile,  finding  that  the  secretary  stopped. 
"  You  were  saying " 

Gashford  meekly  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
and  looking  on  the  ground  again,  was  si- 
«ent. 


"  No,  but  let  us  really,"  interposed  Sir 
John  at  this  juncture,  "  let  us  really,  for  a 
moment,  contemplate  the  very  remarkable 
character  of  this  meeting.  Haredale,  my 
dear  friend,  pardon  me  if  I  think  you  are 
not  sufficiently  impressed  with  its  singular- 
ity. Here  we  stand,  by  no  previous  appoint- 
ment or  arrangement,  three  old  school-fel- 
lows, in  Westminster  Hall:  three  old 
boarders  in  a  remarkably  dull  and  shady 
seminary  at  Saint  Omer's,  where  you,  be- 
ing Catholics  and  of  necessity  educated  out 
of  England,  were  brought  up;  and  where 
I,  being  a  promising  young  Protestant  at 
that  time,  was  sent  to  learn  the  French 
tongue  from  a  native  of  Paris  !" 

"  Add  to  this  singularity.  Sir  John,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale,  "  that  some  of  you  Protest- 
ants of  promise  are  at  this  moment  leagued 
in  yonder  building,  to  prevent  our  having 
the  surpassing  and  unheard-of  privilege  of 
teaching  our  children  to  read  and  write — 
here — in  this  land,  where  thousands  of  us 
enter  your  service  every  year,  and  to  pre- 
serve the  freedom  of  which,  we  die  in  bloody 
battles  abroad,  in  heaps:  and  that  others  of 
you,  to  the  number  of  some  thousands  as  I 
learn,  are  led  on  to  look  on  all  men  of  my 
creed  as  wolves  and  beasts  of  prey,  by  this 
man  Gashford.  Add  to  it,  besides,  the  bare 
fact  that  this  man  lives  in  society,  walks 
the  streets  in  broad  day — I  was  about  to 
say,  iiolds  up  his  head,  but  that  he  does  not 
— and  it  will  be  strange,  and  very  strange, 
I  grant  you." 

"  Oh  !  you  are  hard  upon  our  friend,"  re- 
plied Sir  John,  with  an  engaging  smile. 
"  You  are  really  very  hard  upon  our  friend  !" 

"  Let  him  go  on.  Sir  John,"  said  Gash- 
ford, fumbling  with  his  gloves.  "  Let  him 
go  on.  I  can  make  allowances.  Sir  John. 
I  am  honoured  with  your  good  opinion,  and 
I  can  dispense  with  Mr.  Haredale's.  Mr. 
Haredale  is  a  sufferer  from  the  penal  laws, 
and  I  can't  expect  his  favour." 

"  You  have  so  much  of  my  favour,  sir," 
retorted  Mr.  Haredale,  with  a  bitter  glance 
at  the  third  party  in  their  conversation, 
"  that  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  such  gnod 
company.  You  are  the  essence  of  your 
great  Association,  in  yourselves." 

"Now,  there  you  mistake,"  said  Sir 
John,  in  his  most  benignant  way.  "  There 
— which  is  a  most  remarkable  circumstance 
for  a  man  of  your  punctuality  and  exact- 
ness, my  dear  Haredale — you  fall  into  an 
error.  I  don't  belong  to  the  body  ;  I  have 
an  immense  respect  for  its  members,  but  i 
don't  belong  to  it;  although  I  am,  it  is  cer 
tainly  true,  the  conscientious  opponent  of 
your  being  relieved.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
be  so;  it  is  a  most  unfortunate  necessity, 
and  cost  me  a  bitter  struggle. — Will  you 
try  this  box  ?    If  you  don't  object  to  a  tri- 


184 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


fling  infusion  of  a  very  chaste  scent,  you'll 
find  its  flavour  exquisite." 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  John,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  declining  the  proffer  with  a  mo- 
tion of  his  hand,  "  for  having  ranked  you 
among  the  humble  instruments  who  are  ob- 
vious and  in  all  men's  sight.  I  should  have 
done  more  justice  to  your  genius.  Men 
of  your  capacity  plot  in  secresy  and  safety, 
and  leave  exposed  posts  to  the  duller  wits." 

"Don't  apologise,  for  the  world,"  replied 
Sir  John  sweetly ;  "old  friends  like  you  and 
I  may  be  allowed  some  freedoms,  or  the 
deuce  is  in  it." 

Gashford,  who  had  been  very  restless  all 
this  time,  but  had  not  once  looked  up,  now 
turned  to  Sir  John,  and  ventured  to  mutter 
something  to  the  effect  that  he  must  go,  or 
my  Lord  would  perhaps  be  waiting.  "  Don't 
distress  yourself,  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  "  I  '11  take  my  leave,  and  put  you  at 
your  ease — "  which  he  was  about  to  do 
without  further  ceremony,  when  he  was 
stayed  by  a  buzz  and  murmur  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  hall,  and,  looking  in  that  direc- 
tion, saw  Lord  George  Gordon  coming  on, 
with  a  crowd  of  people  round  him. 

There  was  a  lurking  look  of  triumph, 
though  very  differently  expressed,  in  the 
faces  of  his  two  companions,  which  made 
it  a  natural  impulse  on  Mr.  Haredale's  part 
not  to  give  way  before  this  leader,  but  to 
stand  there  while  he  passed.  He  drew 
himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and,  clasping 
his  hands  behind  him,  looked  on  with  a 
proud  and  scornful  aspect,  while  Lord 
George  slowly  advanced  (for  the  press  was 
great  about  him)  towards  the  spot  where 
they  were  standing. 

He  had  left  the  House  of  Commons  but 
that  moment,  and  had  come  straight  down 
into  the  Hall,  bringing  with  him,  as  his  cus- 
tom was,  intelligence  of  what  had  been 
said  that  night  in  reference  to  the  Papists, 
and  what  petitions  had  been  presented  in 
their  favour,  and  who  had  supported  them, 
and  when  the  bill  was  to  be  brought  in,  and 
when  it  would  be  advisable  to  present  their 
own  Great  Protestant  petition.  All  this  he 
told  the  persons  about  him  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  with  great  abundance  of  ungainly  ges- 
ture. Those  who  were  nearest  him  made 
comments  to  each  other,  and  vented  threats 
and  murmurings;  those  who  were  outside 
the  crowd  cried  "Silence,"  and  "Stand 
back,"  or  closed  in  upon  the  rest,  endea- 
vouring to  make  a  forcible  exchange  of 
places:  and  so  they  came  driving  on  in  a 
\ery  disorderly  and  irregular  way,  as  it  is 
the  manner  of  a  crowd  to  do. 

When  they  were  very  near  to  where  the 
Secretary,  Sir  John,  and  Mr.  Haredale 
stood,  Lord  George  turned  round  and,  mak- 
mg  a  few  remarks  of  a  sufficiently  violent 


and  incoherent  kind,  concluded  with  the 
usual  sentiment,  and  called  for  three  cheera 
to  back  it.  While  these  were  in  the  act 
of  being  given  with  great  energy,  he  ex- 
tricated  himself  from  the  press,  and  stepped 
up  to  Gashford's  side.  Both  he  and  Sir 
John  being  well  known  to  the  populace, 
they  fell  back  a  little,  and  left  the  four 
standing  together. 

"  Mr.  Haredale,  Lord  George,"  said  Sir 
John  Chester,  seeing  that  the  nobleman  re- 
garded him  with  an  inquisitive  look.  "A 
Catholic  gentleman  unfortunately  —  most 
unhappily  a  Catholic — but  an  esteemed  ac- 
quaintance of  mine,  and  once  of  Mr.  Gash- 
ford's.  My  dear  Haredale,  this  is  Lord 
George  Gordon." 

"  1  should  have  known  that,  had  I  been 
ignorant  of  his  lordship's  person,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale.  "I  hope  there  is  but  one  gen- 
tleman in  England  who,  addressing  an  ig- 
norant and  excited  throng,  would  speak  of 
a  large  body  of  his  fellow-subjects  in  such 
injurious  language  as  I  heard  this  moment. 
For  shame,  my  lord,  for  shame  !" 

"  I  cannot  talk  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Lord 
George  in  a  loud  voice,  and  waving  his 
hand  in  a  disturbed  and  agitated  manner; 
"  we  have  nothing  in  common." 

"We  have  much  in  common  —  many 
things  —  all  that  the  Almighty  gave  us," 
said  Mr.  Haredale;  "and  common  charity, 
my  lord,  not  to  say  common  sense  and  com- 
mon decency,  should  teach  you  to  refrain 
from  these  proceedings.  If  every  one  of 
those  men  had  arms  in  their  hands  at  this 
moment,  as  they  have  them  in  their  heads, 
I  would  not  leave  this  place  without  telling 
you  that  you  disgrace  your  station." 

"I  don't  hear  you,  sir,"  he  replied  in  the 
same  manner  as  before ;  "  I  can't  hear  you. 
It  is  indifferent  to  me  what  you  say.  Don't 
retort,  Gashford,"  for  the  secretary  had 
made  a  show  of  wishing  to  do  so;  "I  can 
hold  no  communion  with  the  worshippers 
of  idols." 

As  he  said  this,  he  glanced  at  Sir  John, 
who  lifted  his  hands  and  eyebrows,  as  if 
deploring  the  intemperate  conduct  of  Mr. 
Haredale,  and  smiled  in  admiration  of  the 
crowd,  and  of  their  leader. 

"/fe  retort!"  cried  Haredale.  "Look 
you  here,  my  Lord.  Do  you  know  this 
manl" 

Lord  George  replied  by  laying  his  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  his  cringing  secretary, 
and  viewing  him  with  a  smile  of  confidence. 

"  This  man,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,"  eyeing 
him  from  top  to  toe,  "who  in  his  boyhood 
was  a  thief,  and  has  been  from  that  time  to 
this,  a  servile,  false,  and  truckling  knave: 
this  man,  who  has  crawled  and  crept  through 
life,  wounding  the  hands  he  licked,  and  bit- 
ing those  he  fawned  upon :  this  sycophant, 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


185 


who  never  knew  what  honour,  truth,  or 
courage  meant ;  who  robbed  his  benefac- 
tor's daughter  of  her  virtue,  and  married 
fter  to  break  her  heart,  and  did  it,  with 
stripes  and  cruehy  :  this  creature,  who  has 
whined  at  kitchen  windows  for  the  broken 
food,  and  begged  for  halfpence  at  our  cha- 
pel doors:  this  apostle  of  the  faith,  whose 
tender  conscience  cannot  bear  the  altars 
where  his  vicious  life  was  publicly  de- 
nounced —  Do  you  know  this  man,  my 
Lord  ?" 

"  Oh,  really  —  you  are  very,  very  hard 
upon  our  friend  !"  exclaimed  Sir  John. 

"  Let  Mr.  Haredale  go  on,"  said  Gash- 
ford,  upon  whose  unwholesome  face  the 
perspiration  had  broken  out  during  this 
speecli,  in  blotches  of  wet;  "I  don't  mind 
him,  Sir  John,  it's  quite  as  indifferent  to 
nie  what  he  says,  as  it  is  to  my  lord  ;  if  he 
reviles  my  Lord,  as  you  have  heard.  Sir 
John,  how  can  /  hope  to  escape  ■?" 

"  Is  it  not  enougii,  my  Lord,"  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  continued,  "  that  I,  as  good  a  gentle- 
man as  you,  must  hold  my  property,  such 
as  it  is,  by  a  trick  at  which  the  state  con- 
nives because  of  these  hard  laws;  and  that 
we  may  not  teach  our  youth  in  schools  the 
common  principles  of  right  and  wrong;  but 
must  we  be  denounced  and  ridden  by  such 
men  as  this !  Here  is  a  man  to  head  your 
No-Popery  cry,  my  Lord.  For  shame.  For 
shame !" 

The  infatuated  nobleman  had  glanced 
more  than  once  at  Sir  John  Chester,  as  if 
to  inquire  whether  there  was  any  truth  in 
these  statements  concerning  Gashford,  and 
Sir  John  had  as  often  plainly  answered  by 
a  shrug  or  look,  "  Oh  dear  me  !  no."  He 
now  said,  in  the  same  loud  key,  and  in  the 
same  strange  manner  as  before : 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir,  in  reply,  and 
no  desire  to  hear  anything  more.  I  beg 
you  won't  obtrude  your  conversation,  or 
these  personal  attacks,  upon  me  any  fur- 
ther. I  shall  not  be  deterred  from  doing 
my  duty  to  my  country  and  my  countrymen, 
by  any  such  attempts,  whether  they  proceed 
from  emissaries  of  the  Pope  or  not,  I  assure 
you.     Come,  Gashford  !" 

They  had  walked  on  a  few  paces  while 
speaking,  and  were  now  at  the  Hall-door, 
through  which  they  passed  together.  Mr. 
Haredale  without  any  leave-taking,  turned 
away  to  t'ne  river-stairs,  which  were  close 
at  hand  and  hailed  the  only  boatman  who 
remained  there. 

But  the  throng  of  people — the  foremost 
of  whom  had  heard  every  word  that  Lord 
George  Gordon  said,  and  among  all  of  whom 
the  rumour  had  been  rapidly  dispersed  that 
the  stranger  was  a  Papist  who  was  beard-  I 
ing  him  for  his  advocacy  of  the  popular  1 
cause  —  came  pouring  out  pell-mell,  and,  1 


forcing  the  nobleman,  his  secretary,  and 
Sir  John  Chester  on  before  them,  so  that 
tiiey  appeared  to  bo  at  their  head,  crowded 
to  the  top  of  the  stairs  where  Mr.  Haredale 
waited  until  the  boat  was  ready,  and  there 
stood  still,  leaving  him  on  a  little  clear 
space  by  himself. 

They  were  not  silent,  however,  though 
inactive.  At  first  some  indistinct  mutter- 
ings  arose  among  them,  which  were  follow- 
ed by  a  hiss  or  two,  and  these  swelled  by 
degrees  into  a  perfect  storm.  Tiien  one 
voice  said,  "Down  with  the  Papists!"  and 
there  was  a  pretty  general  cheer,  but  no- 
thing more.  After  a  lull  of  a  few  moments, 
one  man  cried  out,  "  Stone  him  ;"  another, 
"Duck  him;"  another,  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  "No  Popery!"  This  favourite  cry 
the  rest  re-echoed,  and  the  mob,  wliich 
might  have  been  two  hundred  strong,  join- 
ed in  a  general  shout. 

Mr.  Haredale  had  stood  calmly  on  the 
brink  of  tlie  steps,  until  they  made  this  de- 
monstration, when  he  looked  round  con- 
temptuously, and  walked  at  a  slow  pace 
down  the  stairs.  He  was  pretty  near  the 
boat,  when  Gashford,  as  if  without  inten- 
tion, turned  about,  and  directly  afterwards 
a  great  stone  was  thrown  by  some  hand  in 
the  crowd,  which  struck  him  on  the  head, 
and  made  him  stagger  like  a  drunken  man. 

The  blood  sprung  freely  from  the  wound, 
and  trickled  down  his  coat.  He  turned  di- 
rectly, and  rushing  up  the  steps  with  a  bold- 
ness and  passion  which  made  them  all  fall 
back,  demanded : 

"  Who  did  that  ]  Show  me  the  man  who 
hit  me." 

Not  a  soul  moved ;  except  some  in  the 
rear  who  slunk  off,  and,  escaping  to  the 
other  side  of  the  way,  looked  on  like  indif- 
ferent spectators. 

"Who  did  that?"  he  repeated.  "Show 
me  the  man  who  did  it.  Dog,  was  it  you? 
It  was  your  deed,  if  not  your  hand — I  know 
you." 

He  threw  himself  on  Gashford  as  he  said 
the  words,  and  hurled  him  to  the  ground. 
There  was  a  sudden  motion  in  the  crowd, 
and  some  laid  hands  upon  him,  but  hie  sword 
was  out,  and  they  fell  off  again. 

"  My  lord — Sir  John," — he  cried,  "draw, 
one  of  you  —  you  are  responsible  for  this 
outrage,  and  I  look  to  you.  Draw,  if  yo\i 
are  gentlemen."  With  that  he  struck  Sir 
John  upon  the  breast  with  the  flat  of  his 
weapon,  and  with  a  burning  face  and  flash- 
ing eyes  stood  upon  his  guard ;  alone,  be- 
fore them  all. 

For  an  instant,  for  the  briefest  space  of 
time  the  mind  can  readily  conceive,  there 
was  a  change  in  Sir  John's  smooth  face, 
such  as  no  man  ever  saw  there.  The  next 
moment,  he  stepped  forward  and  laid  one 


186 


BARNABY    RUDGE 


nand  on  Mr.  Haredale's  arm,  while  with 
tne  other  he  endeavoured  to  appease  the 
crowd. 

"  -My  dear  friend,  my  good  Haredale,  you 
gre  blinded  with  passion — it's  very  natiira], 
extremely  natural  —  but  you  don't  know 
friends  from  foes." 

"  I  know  them  all,  sir,  I  can  disting'uish 
well — "  he  retorted,  almost  mad  with  raje. 
'  Sir  John,  my  Lord  —  do  you  hear  me? 
Are  you  cowards  1" 

"Never  mind,  sir,"  said  a  man,  forcing 
his  way  between  and  pushing  him  towards 
the  stairs  with  friendly  violence,  '»  never 
mind  asking  that.  For  God's  sake,  get 
away.  What  can  you  do  against  this  num- 
ber ?  And  there  are  as  many  more  in  the 
next  street,  who'll  be  round  directly" — in- 
deed they  began  to  pour  in  as  he  said  the 
words — "you'd  be  giddy  from  that  cut,  in 
the  first  heat  of  a  scuffle.  Now  do  retire, 
fiir,  or  take  my  word  for  it  you'll  be  worse 
■.ised  than  you  would  be  if  every  man  in 
iie  crowd  was  a  woman,  and  that  woman 


Bloody  Mary.  Come,  sir,  u,uke  haste —as 
quick  as  you  can." 

Mr.  Haredale,  who  began  to  turn  faint 
and  sick,  felt  how  sensible  this  advice  was, 
and  descended  the  steps  with  his  unknown 
friend's  assistance.  John  Gruehy  (for  John 
it  was)  helped  him  into  the  boat,  and  giv- 
ing her  a  shove  off  which  sent  her  thirty 
feet  into  the  tide,  bade  the  waterman  pull 
away  like  a  Briton;  and  walked  up  again 
as  composedly  as  if  he  had  just  landed. 

There  was  at  first  a  slight  disposition  on 
the  part  of  the  mob  to  resent  this  interfer- 
ence ;  but  John  looking  particularly  strong 
and  cool,  and  wearing  besides  Lord  George's 
livery,  they  thought  better  of  it,  and  con- 
tented themselves  with  sending  a  shower 
of  small  missiles  after  the  boat,  which 
plashed  harmlessly  in  the  water,  for  she 
had  by  this  time  cleared  the  bridge,  and 
was  darting  swiftiv  down  the  centre  of  the 
stream. 

From  this  amusement,  they  proceeded  to 
ffivinff  Protestant  knocks  at  the  doors  c/ 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


187 


private  houses,  breaking  a  few  lamps,  and  [  Guards  had  been  sent  for,  they  took  to  theii 
assaultiiisT  some  stray  constables.  But  it  heels  with  great  expedition,  and  lell  the 
being  wliispered  that  a  detachment  of  Life  !  street  quite  clear. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-FOURTH. 


When  the  concourse  separated,  and,  di- 
viding into  chance  clusters,  drew  off  in  va- 
rious directions,  there  still  remained  upon 
the  scene  of  the  late  disturbance,  one  man. 
This  man  was  Gashford,  who,  bruised  by 
his  late  fall,  and  hurt  in  a  much  greater 
degree  by  the  indignity  he  had  undergone, 
and  the  exposure  of  which  he  had  been  the 
victim,  limped  up  and  down,  breathing 
curses  and  threats  of  vengeance. 

It  was  not  the  secretary's  nature  to  waste 
his  wrath  in  words.     While  he  vented  the 
froth  of  his  malevolence  in  these  eftiisions,  j 
he  kept  a  steady  eye  on  two  men,  who,  hav-  ' 
ing  disappeared   with  the   rest   when  the  ] 
alarm  was  spread,  had  since  returned,  and 
were  now   visible  in  the  moonlight,  at  no 
great  distance,  as  they  walked  to  and  fro, 
and  talked  together. 

He  made  no  move  towards  them,  but 
waited  patiently  on  the  dark  side  of  the 
street,  until  they  were  tired  of  strolling 
backwards  and  forwards  and  walked  away 
in  company.  Then  he  followed,  but  at 
some  distance :  keeping  them  in  view, 
without  appearing  to  have  that  object,  or 
being  seen  by  them. 

They  went  up  Parliament  Street,  passed 
Saint  Martin's  church,  and  away  by  Saint 
Giles's  to  Tottenham  Court  Road,  at  the 
back  of  which,  upon  the  western  side,  was 
then  a  place  called  the  Green  Lanes.  This 
was  a  retired  spot,  not  of  the  choicest  kind, 
leading  into  the  fields.  Great  heaps  of 
ashes  ;  stagnant  pools,  overgrown  with  rank 
grass  and  duckweed;  broken  turnstiles; 
and  the  upright  posts  of  palings  long  since 
carried  off  for  firewood,  which  menaced  all 
heedless  walkers  with  their  jagged  and 
rusty  nails;  were  the  leading  features  of 
the  landscape  :  while  here  and  there  a  don- 
key, or  a  ragged  horse,  tethered  to  a  stake, 
and  cropping  off  a  wretched  meal  from  the 
coarse  stunted  turf,  were  quite  in  keeping 
with  the  scene,  and  would  have  sucrgested 
(if  the  houses  had  not  done  so  sufficiently, 
of  themselves)  how  very  poor  the  people 
were  who  lived  in  the  crazy  huts  adjacent, 
and  how  fool-hardy  it  might  prove  for  one 
who  carried  money,  or  wore  decent  clothes, 
to  walk  that  way  alone,  unless  by  daylight. 

Poverty  has  its  whims  and  shows  of  taste, 
as  wealth  has.  Some  of  these  cabins  were 
turreted,  some  had  false  windows  painted 
on  their  rotten  walls;  c.ne  had  a  mimic 
clock,  upon  a  crazy  tower  of  four  feet  high, 


which  screened  the  chimney ;  each  in  its 
little  patch  of  ground  liad  a  rude  seat  or 
arbour.  The  population  dealt  in  bones,  in 
rafjs,  in  broken  glass,  in  old  wheels,  in 
birds,  and  dogs.  These,  in  their  several 
ways  of  stowage,  filled  the  gardens ;  and 
shedding  a  perfume,  not  of  the  most  deli- 
cious nature,  in  the  air,  filled  it  besides  with 
yelps,  and  screams,  and  howling. 

Into  this  retreat,  the  secretary  followed 
the  two  men  whom  he  had  held  in  sight ; 
and  here  he  saw  them  safely  lodged,  in  one 
of  the  meanest  houses,  which  was  but  a 
room,  and  that  of  small  dimensions.  He 
waited  without  until  the  sound  of  their 
voices,  joined  in  a  discordant  song,  assured 
him  they  were  making  merry;  and  then 
approaching  the  door,  by  means  of  a  totter 
ing  plank  which  crossed  the  ditch  in  front 
knocked  at  it  with  his  hand. 

"  Muster  Gashford  !"  said  the  man  who 
opened  it,  taking  his  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
in  evident  surprise.  "Why,  who'd  have 
thounrht  of  this  here  honour  !  Walk  in.  Mus- 
ter Gashford — walk  in,  sir." 

Gashford  required  no  second  invitation, 
and  entered  with  a  gracious  air.  There 
was  a  fire  in  the  rusty  grate  (for  though 
the  spring  was  pretty  far  advanced,  the 
nights  were  cold),  and  on  a  stool  beside  it 
Hugh  sat  smoking.  Dennis  placed  a  chair, 
his  only  one,  for  the  secretary,  in  front  of 
the  hearth ;  and  took  his  seat  again  upon 
the  stool  he  had  left,  when  he  rose  to  give 
the  visiter  admission. 

"  What's  in  the  wind  now.  Muster  Gash- 
ford 1"  he  said,  as  he  resumed  his  pipe,  and 
looked  at  him  askew.  "Any  orders  from 
head-quarters'?  Are  we  going  to  begin! 
What  is  it,  Muster  Gashford  ]" 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  rejoined  the  se- 
cretary, with  a  friendly  nod  to  Hugh.  "  We 
have  broken  the  ice,  though.  We  had  a 
little  spurt  to-day — eh,  Dennis  1" 

"  A  very  little  one,"  growled  the  hang 
man.     "  Not  half  enough  for  me." 

»' Nor  me  either!"  cried  Hugh.  "Give 
us  something  to  do  with  life  in  it — with  !ife 
in  it,  Master.     Ha,  ha  !" 

"  Why,  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  secre- 
tary, with  his  worst  expression  of  face,  and 
in  his  mildest  tones,  "have  anything  to  do, 
with — with  death  in  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Hugh. 
"  I  'm  open  to  orders.    I  don't  care  ;  not  L" 

*•  Nor  I !"  vociferated  Dennis. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


Brave  fellows  !"  said  the  secretary,  in 
as  pastor-like  voice  as  if  he  were  commend- 
ing them  for  some  uncommon  act  of  valour 
and  generosity.  "  By  the  bye" — and  here 
he  stopped  and  warmed  his  hands:  then 
suddenly  looking  up  —  "  who  threw  that 
stone  to-day  f" 

Mr.  Dennis  coughed  and  shook  his  head, 
as  who  should  say,  "  A  mystery,  indeed  !" 
Hugh  sat  and  smoked  in  silence. 

"  It  was  well  done !"  said  the  secretary, 
warming  his  hands  again.  "I  should  like 
to  know  that  man." 

«»  Would  you  V  said  Dennis,  after  look- 
ing at  his  face  to  assure  himself  that  he 
was  serious.  "Would  you  like  to  know 
that  man.  Muster  Gashford  ?" 

"  I  should,  indeed,"  replied  the  secretary. 

"  Why,  then,  Lord  love  you,"  said  the 
hangman,  in  his  hoarsest  chuckle,  as  he 
pointed  with  his  pipe  to  Hugh,  "  there  he 
sets.  That's  the  man.  My  stars  and  hal- 
ters Muster  Gashford,"  he  added  in  a  whis- 
per, as  he  drew  his  stool  close  to  him  and 
jogged  him  with  his  elbow,  "  what  a  in- 
teresting blade  he  is !  He  wants  as  much 
holding  in  as  a  thorough-bred  bulldog.  If 
it  hadn't  been  for  me  to-day,  he'd  have  had 
that  'ere  Roman  down,  and  make  a  riot  of 
it,  in  another  minute." 

"  And  why  not?"  cried  Hugh,  in  a  surly 
voice,  as  he  overheard  this  last  remark. 
"  Where  's  the  good  of  putting  things  off  1 
Strike  while  the  iron's  hot;  that's  what  I 
say." 

"Ah!"  retorted  Dennis,  shaking  his 
head,  with  a  kind  of  pity  for  his  friend's  in- 
genuous youth  :  "  but  suppose  the  iron  an't 
hot,  brother?  You  must  get  people's  blood 
up  afore  you  strike,  and  have  'em  in  he  hu- 
mour. There  wasn't  quite  enough  to  pro- 
voke 'em  to-day,  I  tell  you.  If  you'd  had 
your  way,  you'd  have  spoilt  the  fun  to 
come,  and  ruined  us." 

"  Dennis  is  quite  right,"  said  Gashford, 
wnoothly.  "  He  is  perfectly  correct.  Den- 
nis has  great  knowledge  of  the  world." 

"  I  ought  to  have,  Muster  Gashford,  see- 
ing what  a  many  people  I've  helped  out  of 
it,  eh !"  grinned  the  hangman,  whispering 
the  words  behind  his  hand. 

The  secretary  laughed  at  this  jest  as 
much  as  Dennis  could  desire,  and  when  he 
had  done,  said,  turning  to  Hugh  : 

"  Dennis's  policy  was  mine,  as  you  may 
have  observed.  You  saw,  for  instance, 
how  I  fell  when  I  was  set  upon.  I  made 
no  resistance.  I  did  nothing  to  provoke  an 
outbreak.     Oh  dear,  no  !" 

"  No,  by  the  Lord  Harry  !"  cried  Dennis, 
with  a  noisy  laugh,  "you  went  down  very 
quiet.  Muster  Gashford — and  very  flat,  be- 
sides. I  thinks  to  myself  at  the  time  '  it 's 
all  up  with  Muster  Gashford!'   I  never  see 


a  man  lay  flatter  nor  more  still — with  tns 
life  in  him — than  you  did  to-day.  He's  a 
rough  'un  to  play  with,  is  that  ere  Papist, 
and  that's  the  fact." 

The  secretary's  face,  as  Dennis  roared 
with  laughter,  and  turned  his  wrinkled  eyes 
on  Hugh,  who  did  the  like,  might  have  fur- 
nished a  study  for  the  devil's  picture.  He 
sat  quite  silent  until  they  were  serious 
again,  and  then  said,  looking  round  : 

"  VVe  are  very  pleasant  here ;  so  very 
pleasant,  Dennis,  that  but  for  my  Lord's 
particular  desire  that  I  should  sup  with 
him,  and  the  time  being  very  near  at  hand, 
I  should  be  inclined  to  stop,  until  it  would 
be  hardly  safe  to  go  homeward.  I  come 
upon  a  little  business  —  yes,  I  do  —  as  you 
supposed.  It 's  very  flattering  to  you  ;  be- 
ing this.  If  we  ever  should  be  obliged  — 
and  we  can't  tell,  you  know — this  is  a  very 
uncertain  world — " 

"I  believe  you,  Muster  Gashford,"  inter- 
posed the  hangman,  with  a  grave  nod.  — 
"  The  uncertainties  as  I  've  seen  in  refe- 
rence to  this  here  state  of  existence,  the 
unexpected  contingencies  as  have  come 
about ! — Oh,  my  eye  !" 

And  feeling  the  subject  much  too  vast 
for  expression,  he  puffed  his  pipe  again,  and 
looked  the  rest. 

"I  say,"  resumed  the  secretary,  in  a 
slow,  impressive  way ;  "  v/e  can't  tell  what 
may  come  to  pass;  and  if  we  should  be 
obliged,  against  our  wills,  to  have  recourse 
to  violence,  my  Lord  (who  has  suffered  ter 
ribly  to-day,  as  far  as  words  can  go)  con- 
signs to  you  two — bearing  in  mind  my  re- 
commendation of  you  both,  as  good  staunch 
men,  beyond  all  doubt  and  suspicion  —  the 
pleasant  task  of  punishing  this  Haredale. 
You  may  do  as  you  please  with  him,  or  his ; 
provided  that  you  show  no  mercy,  and  no 
quarter,  and  leave  no  two  beams  of  his 
house  standing  where  the  builder  placed 
them.  You  may  sack  it,  burn  it,  do  with 
it  as  you  like,  but  it  must  come  down ;  it 
must  be  razed  to  the  ground  ;  and  he,  and 
all  belonging  to  him,  left  as  shelterless  as 
new-born  infants  whom  their  mothers  have 
exposed.  Do  you  understand  me  "!"  said 
Gashford,  pausing,  and  pressing  his  hands 
together  gently. 

"  Understand  you,  master  I"  cried  Hugh. 
"  You  speak  plain,  now.  Why,  this  is 
hearty  !" 

"  I  knew  you  would  like  it,"  said  Gash- 
ford, siiaking  him  by  the  hand  ;  "  I  thought 
you  would.  Good  night !  Don't  rise,  Den- 
nis :  I  would  rather  find  my  way  alone.  I 
may  have  to  make  other  visits  here,  and 
it's  pleasant  to  come  and  go  without  dis- 
turbing you.  I  can  find  my  way  perfectly 
well.     Good  night !" 

He  was  gone,  and  had  shut  the  door  be- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


189 


hind  him.  They  looked  at  each  other,  and 
nodded  approvingly  :  Dennis  stirred  up  the 
fire. 

"  This  looks  a  little  more  like  business !" 
he  said. 

"Ay,  indeed!"  cried  Hugh;  "  this  suits 
me!" 

"  I  've  heerd  it  said  of  Muster  Gashford," 


said  the  hangman,  thoughtfully,  "  that  he  'a 
a  surprising  nioinory  and  wonderful  firm- 
ness—  that  he  never  forgot,  and  never  for- 
gave.    Let's  drink  his  health  !" 

Hugh  readily  complied;  pouring  no  li- 
quor on  the  floor  when  he  drank  this  toast; 
and  they  pledged  the  secretary  as  a  man 
after  their  own  hearts,  in  a  bumper. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-FIFTH. 


While  the  worst  passions  of  the  worst 
men  were  thus  working  in  the  dark,  and 
the  mantle  of  religion,  assumed  to  cover 
the  ugliest  deformities,  threatened  to  be- 
come the  shroud  of  all  that  was  good  and 
peaceful  in  society,  a  circumstance  occur- 
red which  once  more  altered  the  position 
of  two  persons  from  whom  this  history  has 
long  been  separated,  and  to  whom  it  must 
now  return. 

In  a  small  English  country-town,  the  in- 
habitants of  which  supported  themselves  by 
the  labour  of  their  hands  in  plaiting  and 
preparing  straw  for  those  who  made  bon- 
nets and  other  articles  of  dress  and  orna- 
ment from  that  material, — concealed  under 
an  assumed  name,  and  living  in  a  quiet  po- 
verty which  knew  no  change,  no  pleasures, 
and  few  cares  but  that  of  struggling  on 
from  day  to  day  in  the  one  great  toil  for 
bread,  —  dwelt  Barnaby  and  his  mother. 
Their  poor  cottage  had  known  no  stranger's 
foot  since  they  sought  the  shelter  of  its  roof 
five  years  before ;  nor  had  they  in  all  that 
time  held  any  commerce  or  communication 
with  the  old  world  from  which  they  had 
fled.  To  labour  in  peace,  and  devote  her 
labour  and  her  life  to  her  poor  son,  was  all 
the  widow  sought.  If  happiness  can  be 
said  at  any  time  to  be  the  lot  of  one  on 
whom  a  secret  sorrow  preys,  she  was  hap- 
py now.  Tranquillity,  resignation,  and  her 
strong  love  of  him  who  needed  it  so  much, 
formed  the  small  circle  of  her  quiet  joys; 
and  while  that  remained  unbroken,  she  was 
contented. 

For  Barnaby  himself,  the  time  which  had 
flown  by,  had  passed  him  like  the  wind. 
The  daily  suns  of  years  had  shed  no  bright- 
er gleam  of  reason  on  his  mind ;  no  dawn 
had  broken  on  his  long,  dark  night.  He 
would  sit  sometimes — often  for  days  toge- 
ther— on  a  low  seat  by  the  fire  or  by  the 
cottage-door,  busy  at  work  (for  he  had  learnt 
the  art  his  mother  plied,)  and  listening-,  God 
help  him,  to  the  tales  she  would  repeat,  as 
a  lure  to  keep  him  in  her  sight.  He  had 
no  recollection  of  these  little  narratives; 
the  tale  of  yesterday  was  new  upon  the 
morrow ;  but  he  liked  them  at  the  moment ; 
and  when  the  humour  held  him,  would  re- 


main patiently  within  doors,  hearing  her 
stories  like  a  little  child,  and  working  cheer- 
fully from  sunrise  until  it  was  too  dark  to 
see. 

At  other  times, — and  then  their  scanty 
earnings  were  barely  sufficient  to  furnish 
them  with  food,  though  of  the  coarsest  sort, 
— he  would  wander  abroad  from  dawn  of  day 
until  the  twilight  deepened  into  night. 
Few  in  that  place,  even  of  the  ciiildren, 
could  be  idle,  and  he  had  no  companions  of 
his  own  kind.  Indeed  there  were  not  many 
who  could  have  kept  up  with  him  in  hia 
rambles,  had  tliere  been  a  legion.  But 
there  were  a  score  of  vagabond  dogs  be- 
longing to  the  neighbours,  who  served  his 
purpose  quite  as  well.  With  two  or  three 
of  these,  or  sometimes  with  a  full  half-do- 
zen barking  at  his  heels,  he  would  sally 
forth  on  some  long  expedition  that  consun> 
ed  the  day  ;  and  though,  on  their  return  at 
nightfall,  the  dogs  would  come  home  limf)- 
ing  and  sore-footed,  and  almost  spent  with 
their  fatigue,  Barnaby  was  up  and  off' again 
at  sunrise  with  some  new  attendants  of  the 
same  class,  with  whoui  he  would  return  in 
like  manner.  On  all  these  travels,  Grip, 
in  his  little  basket  at  his  master's  back,  wag 
a  constant  member  of  the  party,  and  when 
they  set  off  in  fine  weather  and  in  high 
spirits,  no  dog  barked  louder  than  the  raven. 

Their  pleasures  on  these  excursions  were 
simple  enough.  A  crust  of  bread  and  scrap 
of  meat,  with  water  from  the  brook  or  spring, 
sufficed  for  their  repast.  Barnaby's  enjoy- 
ments were,  to  walk,  and  run,  and  leap,  till 
he  was  tired  ;  then  to  lie  down  in  the  long 
grass,  or  by  the  growing  corn,  or  in  the 
shade  of  some  tall  tree,  looking  upward  at 
the  light  clouds  as  they  floated  over  the  blue 
surface  of  the  sky,  and  listening  to  the  lark 
as  she  poured  out  her  brilliant  song.  There 
were  wild-flowers  to  pluck — tiie  bright  red 
poppy,  the  crentle  harebell,  the  cowslip,  and 
tlie  rose.  There  were  birds  to  watch  ;  fish ; 
ants;  worms;  hares  or  rabbits,  as  they 
darted  across  the  distant  pathway  in  the 
wood  and  so  were  gone:  millions  of  living 
things  to  have  an  interest  in,  and  lie  in  wait 
for,  and  clap  hands  and  shout  in  memory  of, 
when  they  had  disappeared.    In  default  of 


190 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


these,  or  when  they  wearied,  there  was  the 
merry  sunlight  to  hunt  out,  as  it  crept  in 
aslant  through  leaves  and  boughs  of  trees, 
and  hid  far  down  —  deep,  deep,  in  hollow 
places — like  a  silver  pool,  where  nodding 
branches  seemed  to  bathe  and  sport ;  sweet 
scents  of  summer  air  breathing  over  fields 
of  beans  or  clover;  the  perfume  of  wet 
leaves  or  moss;  the  life  of  waving  trees, 
and  shadows  always  changing.  When 
these  or  any  of  them  tired,  or  in  excess  of 
pleasing  tempted  him  to  shut  his  eyes,  there 
was  slumber  in  the  midst  of  all  these  soft 
delights,  with  the  gentle  wind  murmuring 
like  music  in  his  ears,  and  everything 
around  melting  into  one  delicious  dream. 

Their  hut — for  it  was  little  more — stood 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  the  high  road,  but  in  a  secluded 
place,  where  few  chance-passengers  stray- 
ed at  any  season  of  the  year.  It  had  a  plot 
of  garden-ground  attached,  which  Barnaby, 
in  tits  and  starts  of  working,  trimmed,  and 
kept  in  order.  Within  doors  and  without, 
his  mother  laboured  for  their  common  good  ; 
snd  hail,  rain,  snow,  or  sunshine,  found  no 
difference  in  her. 

Though  so  far  removed  from  the  scenes 
of  her  past  life,  and  with  so  little  thought 
or  hope  of  ever  visiting  them  again,  she 
seemed  to  have  a  strange  desire  to  know 
what  happened  in  the  busy  world.  Any 
old  newspaper  or  scrap  of  intelligence  from 
London,  she  caught  at  with  avidity.  The 
excitement  it  produced  was  not  of  a  plea- 
surable kind,  for  her  manner  at  such  times 
expressed  the  keenest  anxiety  and  dread  ; 
but  it  never  faded  in  the  least  degree.  Then, 
and  in  stormy  winter  nights,  when  the  wind 
blew  loud  and  strong,  the  old  expression 
came  into  her  face,  and  she  would  be  seized 
with  a  fit  of  trembling,  like  one  who  had 
an  ague.  But  Barnaby  noted  little  of  this; 
and  putting  a  great  constraint  upon  herself, 
she  usually  recovered  her  accustomed  man- 
ner before  the  change  had  caught  his  ob- 
servation. 

Grip  was  by  no  means  an  idle  or  unpro- 
fitable member  of  the  humble  household. 
Partly  by  dint  of  Barnaby's  tuition,  and 
partly  by  pursuing  a  species  of  self-instruc- 
tion common  to  his  tribe,  and  exerting  his 
powers  of  observation  to  the  utmost,  he  had 
acquired  a  degree  of  sagacity  which  ren- 
dered him  famous  for  miles  round.  His 
conversational  powers  and  surprising  per- 
formances were  the  universal  theme:  and 
as  many  persons  came  to  see  the  wonderful 
raven,  and  none  left  his  exertions  unreward- 
ed —  when  he  condescended  to  exhibit, 
which  was  not  always,  for  genius  is  capri- 
cious—  his  earnings  formed  an  important 
•tern  in  the  common  stock.  Indeed,  the 
ftird  himself  appeared  to  know  his  value 


well ;  for  though  he  was  perfectly  free  and 
unrestrained  in  the  presence  of  Barnaby 
and  his  mother,  he  maintained  in  public  an 
amazing  gravity,  and  never  stooped  to  any 
other  gratuitous  performances  than  biting 
the  ankles  of  vagabond  boys  (an  exercise 
in  which  he  much  delighted,)  killing  a  fowl 
or  two  occasionally,  and  swallowing  the 
dinners  of  various  neighbouring  dogs,  of 
whom  the  boldest  held  him  in  great  awe 
and  dread. 

Time  had  glided  on  in  this  way,  and  no- 
thing had  happened  to  disturb  or  change 
their  mode  of  life,  when,  one  summer's 
night  in  June,  they  were  in  their  little  gar- 
den, resting  from  the  labours  of  the  day. 
The  widow's  work  was  yet  upon  her  knee, 
and  strewn  upon  the  ground  about  her;  and 
Barnaby  stood  leaning  on  his  spade,  gazing 
at  the  brightness  in  the  west,  and  singing 
softly  to  himself. 

"  A  brave  evening,  mother  !  If  we  had, 
chinking  in  our  pockets,  but  a  few  specks 
of  that  gold  which  is  piled  up  yonder  in  the 
sky,  we  should  be  rich  for  life." 

"  We  are  better  as  we  are,"  returned  the 
widow  with  a  quiet  smile.  "Let  us  be 
contented,  and  we  do  not  want  and  need 
not  care  to  have  it,  though  it  lay  shining  at 
our  feet." 

"  Ay  !"  said  Barnaby,  resting  with  crossed 
arms  on  his  spade,  and  looking  wistfully  at 
the  sunset,  "that's  well  enough,  mother ; 
but  gold  's  a  good  thing  to  have.  I  wish 
that  I  knew  where  to  find  it.  Grip  and  I 
could  do  much  with  gold,  be  sure  of  that." 

"  What  would  you  do?"  she  asked. 

"What!  A  world  of  things.  We'd 
dress  finely — you  and  I,  I  mean ;  not  Grip 
—  keep  horses,  dogs,  wear  bright  coloura 
and  feathers,  do  no  more  work,  live  deli- 
cately and  at  our  ease.  Oh,  we  'd  find  uses 
for  it,  mother,  and  uses  that  would  do  us 
good.  I  would  1  knew  where  gold  was  bu 
ried.     How  hard  I  'd  work  to  dig  it  up  !" 

"You  do  not  know,"  said  his  mother,  ris- 
ing from  her  seat  and  laying  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  "  what  men  have  done  to  win 
it,  and  how  they  have  found,  too  late,  that 
it  glitters  brightest  at  a  distance,  and  turns 
quite  dim  and  dull  when  handled." 

"Ay,  ay;  so  you  say;  so  you  think,"  he 
answered,  still  looking-  eagerly  in  the  same 
direction.  "  For  all  that,  mother,  I  should 
like  to  try." 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  she  said,  "  how  red  it 
is?  Nothing  bears  so  many  stains  of  blood 
as  gold.  Avoid  it.  None  have  such  cause 
to  hate  its  name  as  we  have.  Do  not  so 
much  as  think  of  it,  dear  love.  It  has 
brought  such  misery  and  suffering  on  your 
head  and  mine  as  few  have  known,  and  God 
grant  few  may  have  to  undergo.  I  would 
rather  we  were  dead  and  laid  down  m  our 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


191 


graves,  than  you  should  ever  come  to  love 
it." 

For  a  moment  Barnaby  withdrew  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  her  with  wonder.  Then, 
giancin<r  from  the  redness  in  the  sky  to  the 
mark  upoti  his  wrist  as  if  he  would  com- 
pare tiio  two,  he  seemed  about  to  question 
her  with  earnestness,  when  a  new  object 
caught  his  wandering  attention,  and  made 
him  quite  forgetful  of  his  purpose. 

Tiiis  was  a  man  with  dusty  feet  and  gar- 
ments, vviio  stood,  bareheaded,  behind  the 
hedge  that  divided  their  patch  of  garden 
from  the  pathway,  and  leant  meekly  for- 
ward as  if  he  sought  to  mingle  with  their 
conversation,  and  waited  for  his  time  to 
speak.  His  face  was  turned  towards  the 
brightness,  too,  but  the  light  that  fell  upon 
it  showed  that  he  was  blind,  and  saw  it  not. 

"A  blessing  on  those  voices!"  said  the 
wayfarer.  "I  feel  the  beauty  of  the  night 
more  keenly,  when  I  hear  them.  They  are 
like  eyes  to  me.  Will  they  speak  again, 
and  cheer  the  heart  of  a  poor  traveller  ]" 

"Have  you  no  guide?"  asked  the  widow, 
after  a  moment's  pause. 

"  None  but  that,"  he  answered,  pointing 
with  his  statf  towards  the  sun  :  "  and  some- 
times a  milder  one  at  night,  but  she  is  idle 
now." 

"  Have  you  travelled  far  ]" 

"  A  weary  way  and  long,"  rejoined  the 
traveller  as  he  shook  his  head.  "  A  weary, 
weary  way.  I  struck  my  stick  just  now 
upon  the  bucket  of  your  well — be  pleased 
to  let  me  have  a  draught  of  water,  lady." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  lady  1"  she  re- 
turned.    "  I  am  as  poor  as  you." 

"  Your  speech  is  soft  and  gentle,  and  I 
judge  by  that,"  replied  the  man.  "The 
coarsest  stuffs  and  finest  silks,  are — apart 
from  the  sense  of  touch — alike  to  me.  I 
cannot  judge  you  by  your  dress." 

"Come  round  this  way,"  said  Barnaby, 
who  had  passed  out  at  the  garden  gate  and 
now  stood  close  beside  him.  "  Put  your 
hand  in  mine.  You're  blind  and  always 
in  the  dark,  eh?  Are  you  frightened  in  the 
dark  ?  Do  you  see  great  crowds  of  faces, 
now?     Do  they  grin  and  chatter  1" 

"Alas !"  returned  the  other,  "  I  see  no- 
thing.    Waking  or  sleeping,  nothing." 

Barnaby  looked  curiously  at  his  eyes, 
and  touching  them  with  his  fingers,  as  an 
inquisitive  child  might  do,  led  him  towards 
the  house. 

"  You  have  come  a  long  distance,"  said 
the  widow,  meeting  him  at  the  door. — 
"  How  have  you  found  your  way  so  farl" 

"  Use  and  necessity  are  good  teachers, 
as  I  have  heard — the  best  of  any,"  said  the 
blind  man,  sitting  down  upon  the  chair  to 
which  Barnaby  had  led  him,  and  putting 
his  hat  and  stick  upon  the  red-tiled  floor. 


"  May  neither  you  nor  your  son  ever  learn 
under  them.     They  are  rough  masters." 

"  You  have  wandered  from  the  road,  too," 
said  the  widow,  in  a  tone  of  pity. 

"  Maybe,  maybe,"  returned  the  blind  man 
with  a  sigh,  and  yet  with  something  of  a 
smile  upon  his  face,  "  that's  likely.  Hand- 
post  sand  milestones  are  dumb,  indeed,  to 
me.  Thank  you  the  more  for  this  rest, 
and  this  refreshing  drink  !" 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  the  mug  of  water 
to  his  mouth.  It  was  clear,  and  cold,  and 
sparkling,  but  not  to  his  taste,  nevertheless, 
or  his  thirst  was  not  very  great,  for  he  only 
wetted  his  lips  and  put  it  down  again. 

He  wore,  hanging  with  a  long  strap 
round  his  neck,  a  kind  of  scrip  or  wallet, 
in  which  to  carry  food.  The  widow  set 
some  bread  and  cheese  before  him,  but  he 
thanked  her,  and  said  that  through  the  kind- 
ness of  the  charitable  he  had  broken  his 
fast  once  since  morning,  and  was  not  hun- 
gry. When  he  had  made  her  this  reply, 
he  opened  his  wallet,  and  took  out  a  few 
pence,  which  was  all  it  appeared  to  con- 
tain. 

"  Might  I  make  bold  to  ask,"  he  said, 
turning  towards  where  Barnaby  stood  look- 
ing on,  "  that  one  who  has  the  gift  of  sight, 
would  lay  this  out  for  me  in  bread  to  keep 
me  on  my  way?  Heaven's  blessing  on 
the  young  feet  that  will  bestir  themselvffl 
in  aid  of  one  so  helpless  as  a  sightless 
man  !" 

Barnaby  lookeu  at  his  mother,  who  nod- 
ded assent;  in  another  moment  he  was 
gone  upon  his  charitable  errand.  The  blind 
man  sat  listening  with  an  attentive  face, 
until  long  after  the  sound  of  his  retreating 
footsteps  was  inaudible  to  the  widow,  and 
then  said,  suddenly,  and  in  a  very  altered 
tone : 

"  There  are  various  degrees  and  kinds 
of  blindness,  widow.  There  is  the  connu- 
bial blindness,  ma'am,  which  perhaps  you 
may  have  observed  in  the  course  of  your 
own  experience,  and  which  is  a  kind  of 
wilful  and  self-bandaging  blindness.  There 
is  the  blindness  of  party,  ma'am,  and  pub- 
lic men,  which  is  the  blindness  of  a  mad 
bull  in  the  midst  of  a  regiment  of  soldiers 
clothed  in  red.  There  is  the  blind  confi- 
dence of  youth,  which  is  the  blindness  of 
young  kittens,  whose  eyes  have  not  yet 
opened  on  the  world ;  and  there  is  that 
physical  blindness,  ma'am,  of  which  I  am, 
contrary  to  my  own  desire,  a  most  illus- 
trious example.  Added  to  these,  ma'am,  is 
that  blindness  of  the  intellect,  of  which  we 
have  a  specimen  in  your  interesting  son, 
and  which,  having  sometimes  glimmeringa 
and  dawnings  of  the  light,  is  scarcely  to  be 
trusted  as  a  total  darkness.  Therefore, 
ma'am,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  ^et  bini 


192 


BARNA.BY   RUDGE. 


out  of  the  way  for  a  short  time,  while  you 
and  I  confer  together,  and  this  precaution 
arising  out  of  the  delicacy  of  my  senti- 
ments towards  yourself,  you  will  excuse 
me,  ma'am,  I  know." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  speech 
•with  many  flourishes  of  manner,  he  dfew 
from  beneath  his  coat  a  flat  stone  bottle, 
and,  holding  the  cork  between  his  teeth, 
qualified  his  .mug  of  water  with  a  plentiful 
infusion  of  the  liquor  it  contained.  He  po- 
litely drained  the  bumper  to  her  health,  and 
the  ladies,  and  setting  it  down  empty, 
smacked  his  lips  with  infinite  relish. 

"  I  am  a  citizen  of  ihe  world,  ma'am," 
said  the  blind  man,  corking  his  bottle,  "and 
if  I  seem  to  conduct  myself  with  freedom, 
it  is  the  way  of  the  world.  You  wonder 
who  I  am,  ma'am,  and  what  has  brought 
me  here.  Such  experience  of  human  na- 
ture as  I  have,  leads  me  to  that  conclusion, 
without  the  aid  of  eyes  by  which  to  read 
the  movements  of  your  soul  as  depicted  in 
your  feminine  features.  I  will  satisfy  your 
curiosity  immediately,  ma'am  ;  im-mediate- 
ly."  With  that  he  slapped  his  bottle  on  its 
Droad  back,  and  having  put  it  under  his 
garment  as  before,  crossed  his  legs  and 
folded  his  hands,  and  settled  himself  in  his 
chair,  previous  to  proceeding  any  further. 

The  change  in  his  manner  was  so  unex- 
pected, the  craft  and  nakedness  of  his  de- 
portment were  so  much  aggravated  by  his 
condition — for  we  are  accustomed  to  see  in 
those  who  have  lost  a  human  sense,  some- 
thing in  its  place  almost  divine  —  and  this 
alteration  bred  so  many  fears  in  her  whom 
he  addressed,  that  she  could  not  pronounce 
one  word.  After  waiting,  as  it  seemed,  for 
some  remark  or  answer,  and  waiting  in 
vain,  the  visiter  resumed: 

"  Madam,  my  name  is  Stagg.  A  friend 
of  mine  who  has  desired  the  honour  of 
meeting  with  you  any  time  these  five  years 
past,  has  commissioned  iiie  to  call  upon  you. 
I  should  be  glad  to  wiiisper  that  gentle- 
man's name  in  your  ear. — Zounds,  ma'am, 
are  you  deaf!  Do  you  hear  me  say  that  I 
should  be  glad  to  whisper  my  friend's  name 
in  your  earl" 

"  You  need  not  repeat  it,"  said  the 
widow,  with  a  stifled  groan  ;  "  I  see  too 
well  from  whom  you  come." 

"  But  as  a  man  of  honour,  ma'am,"  said 
the  blind  man,  striking  himself  on  the 
breast,  "  whose  credentials  must  not  be  dis- 
puted, I  take  leave  to  say  that  I  will  men- 
tion that  gentleman's  name.  Ay,  ay,"  he 
added,  seeming  to  catcli  with  his  quick  ear 
the  very  motion  of  her  hand,  "  but  not 
aloud.  With  your  leave,  ma'am,  1  desire 
Itie  favour  of  a  whisper." 

Sfte  moved  towards  him,  and  stooped 
dcwa.     He  muttered  a  word  in  her  ear; 


and,  wringing  her  hands,  she  paced  up  and 
down  the  room  like  one  distracted.  The 
blind  man,  with  perfect  composure,  pro- 
duced his  bottle  again,  mixed  another  glass- 
ful ;  put  it  up  as  before  ;  and,  drinking  from 
time  to  time,  followed  her  with  his  face  in 
silence. 

"  You  are  slow  in  conversation,  widow," 
he  said,  after  a  time,  pausing  in  his  draught. 
"  We  shall  have  to  talk  before  your  son." 

"  VVhat  would  you  have  me  do  1"  she 
answered.     "  What  do  you  want  1" 

"  We  are  poor,  widow,  we  are  poor,"  he 
retorted,  stretching  out  his  right  hand,  and 
rubbing  his  thumb  upon  its  palm. 

"Poor  !"  she  cried.    "  And  what  am  11" 

"  Comparisons  are  odious,"  said  the  blind 
man.  "  I  don't  know,  I  don't  care.  I  say 
that  we  are  poor.  My  friend's  circum- 
stances are  indifferent,  and  so  are  mine. 
We  must  have  our  rights,  widow,  or  we 
must  be  bought  ofl^  I3ut  you  know  that, 
as  well  as  1,  so  where 's  the  use  of  talk- 
ing V 

She  still  walked  wildly  to  and  fro.  At 
length,  stopping  abruptly  before  him,  she 
said: 

"  Is  he  near  here  1" 

"  He  is.     Close  at  hand." 

"  Then  I  am  lost !" 

"  Not  lost,  widow,"  said  the  blind  man, 
calmly;  "only  found.     Shall  I  call  him?" 

"Not  for  the  world,"  she  answered  with 
a  shudder. 

"  Very  good,"  he  replied,  crossing  his 
legs  again,  for  he  had  made  as  though  he 
would  rise  and  walk  to  the  door.  "  As  you 
please,  widow.  His  presence  is  not  neces- 
sary that  I  know  of  But  both  he  and  I 
must  live  ;  to  live,  we  must  eat  and  drink; 
to  eat  and  drink,  we  must  have  money: — I 
say  no  more." 

"  Do  you  know  how  pinched  and  desti- 
tute I  am!"  she  retorted.  "  I  do  not  think 
you  do,  or  can.  If  you  had  eyes,  and  could 
look  around  you  on  this  poor  cabin,  you 
would  have  pity  on  me.  Oh  !  let  your 
heart  be  softened  by  your  own  afHiction, 
friend,  and  have  some  sympathy  with  mine." 

The  blind  man  snapped  his  fingers  as  he 
answered, 

" — Beside  the  question,  ma'am,  beside 
the  question.  I  have  the  softest  heart  in 
the  world,  but  I  can't  live  upon  it.  Many 
a  gentleman  lives  well  upon  a  soft  head, 
who  would  find  a  heart  of  tiie  same  quality 
a  very  great  drawback.  Listen  to  me.  This 
is  a  matter  of  business,  with  which  sympa- 
thies and  sentiments  have  notiiing  to  do. 
As  a  mutual  friend,  I  wish  to  arrange  it  in 
a  satisfactory  manner,  if  possible  ;  and  thus 
the  case  stands. — If  you  are  very  poor  now, 
it's  your  own  choice.  You  have  friends 
who,  in  case  of  need,  are  always  ready  to 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 

\\\ 


198 


help  you.  My  friend  is  in  a  more  destitute 
and  desolate  situation  than  most  men,  and, 
you  and  he  being  linked  totrether  in  a  com- 
mon cause,  he  naturally  looks  to  you  to  as- 
sist him.  He  has  boarded  and  lodo^ed  with 
me  a  long  time  (for,  as  I  said  just  now,  I 
am  very  soft-heaned),  and  I  quite  approve 
of  his  entertaining  this  opinion.  You  have 
always  had  a  roof  over  your  head ;  he  has 
always  been  an  outcast.  You  have  your 
son  to  comfort  and  assist  you ;  he  has  no- 
body at  all.  The  advantages  must  not  be 
all  on  one  side.  You  are  in  the  same  boat, 
and  we  must  divide  the  ballast  a  little  more 
equally." 

She  was  about  to  speak,  but  he  checked 
her,  and  went  on. 

"  The  only  way  of  doing  this,  is  by  mak- 
ing up  a  little  purse  now  and  then  for  my 
friend ;  and  that 's  what  I  advise.  He  bears 
you  no  malice  that  I  know  of,  ma'am:  so 
little,  that  although  you  have  treated  him 
harshly  more  than  once,  and  driven  him,  I 
may  say,  out  of  doors,  he  has  that  regard  for 
you  that  I  believe,  even  if  you  disappointed 
him  now,  he  would  consent  to  take  charge 
of  your  son,  and  to  make  a  man  of  him." 

He  laid  a  great  stress  on  these  latter 
words,  and  paused  as  if  to  find  out  what 
effect  they  had  produced.  She  only  an- 
swered by  her  tears. 

"He  is  a  likely  lad,"  said  the  blind  man, 
thoughtfully,  "  for  many  purposes,  and  not 
ill-disposed   to  try  his  Crtune  in  a  little 


change  and  hustle,  if  I  may  judge  from 
what  I  heard  of  his  talk  with  you  to-night. 
Come.  In  a  word,  my  friend  lias  pressing 
necessity  for  twenty  pounds.  You,  who 
can  give  up  an  annuity,  can  get  that  sum 
for  him.  It 's  a  pity  you  should  be  troubled. 
You  seem  very  comfortable  here,  and  it  'a 
worth  that  much  to  remain  so.  Twenty 
pounds,  widow,  is  a  moderate  demand.  You 
know  where  to  apply  for  it ;  a  post  will 
bring  it  you. — Twenty  pounds  !" 

She  was  about  to  answer  him  again,  but 
again  he  stopped  her. 

"  Don't  say  anything  hastily;  you  might 
be  sorry  for  it.  Think  of  it  a  little  while. 
Twenty  pounds — of  other  people's  money 
— how  easy!  Turn  it  over  in  your  mind, 
I'm  in  no  hurry.  Night's  coming  on,  and 
if  I  don't  sleep  here,  I  shall  not  go  far. 
Twenty  pounds !  Consider  of  it,  ma'am, 
for  twenty  minutes;  give  each  pound  a 
minute;  that's  a  fair  allowance.  I'll  en 
joy  the  air  the  while,  which  is  very  mild 
and  pleasant  in  these  parts." 

With  these  words,  he  groped  his  way  to 
the  door,  carrying  his  chair  with  him 
Then  seating  himself  under  a  spreading 
honeysuckle,  and  stretching  his  legs  acrosa 
the  threshold  so  that  no  person  could  pass 
in  or  out  without  his  knowledge,  he  took 
from  his  pocket  a  pipe,  flint,  steel,  and  tin- 
der-box, and  began  to  smoke.  It  was  a 
lovely  evening,  of  that  gentle  kind,  and  at 
that  time  of  the  year,  when  the  twilight  ib 


194 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


most  beautiful.  Pausincr  now  and  then  to 
let  his  smoke  curl  slowly  off,  and  to  sniff' 
the  grateful  fragrance  of  the  flowers,  he 
Bat  there  at  his  ease — as  though  the  cottage 


were  his  proper  dwelling,  and  he  had  held 
undisputed  possession  of  it  all  his  life  — 
waiting  for  the  widow's  answer  and  for 
Barnaby's  return. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-SIXTH. 


When  Barnaby  returned  with  the  hread, 
the  sight  of  the  pious  old  pilgrim  smoking 
his  pipe  and  makmg  himself  so  thoroughly 
at  home,  appeared  to  surprise  even  him; 
the  more  so  as  that  worthy  person,  instead 
of  putting  up  the  loaf  in  his  wallet  as  a 
scarce  and  precious  article,  tossed  it  care- 
lessly on  the  table,  and  producing  his  bot- 
tle, bade  him  sit  down  and  drink. 

"  For  I  carry  some  comfort  you  see,"  he 
said.     "  Taste  that.    Is  it  good  ]" 

The  water  stood  in  Barnaby's  eyes  as  he 
coughed  from  the  strength  of  the  draught, 
and  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Drink  some  more,"  said  the  blind  man; 
"  don't  be  afraid  of  it.  You  don't  taste  any- 
thing like  that,  often,  ehl" 

"  Often !"  cried  Barnaby.     "  Never !" 

"Too  poor!"  returned  the  blind  man 
with  a  sigh.  "Ay.  That's  bad.  Your 
mother,  poor  soul,  would  be  happier  if  she 
was  richer,  Barnaby." 

"Why,  so  I  tell  her — the  very  thing  I 
told  her  just  before  you  came  to-night,  when 
all  that  gold  was  in  the  sky,"  said  Barnaby, 
drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  him,  and  look- 
ing eagerly  in  his  face.  "  Tell  me.  Is 
there  any  way  of  being  rich,  that  I  could 
find  out]" 

"Any  way!     A  hundred  ways." 

"Ay,  ay?"  he  returnd.  "Do  you  say 
B0 1  VVhat  are  they  1 — Nay,  mother,  it 's 
for  your  sake  I  ask ;  not  mine; — for  yours, 
indeed.     What  are  they  1" 

The  blind  man  turned  his  face,  on  which 
there  was  a  smile  of  triumph,  to  where 
the  widow  stood  in  great  distress;  and  an- 
swered, 

"  Why,  they  are  not  to  be  found  out  by 
stay-at-homes,  my  good  friend." 

"By  stay-at-homes!"  cried  Barnaby, 
p.ucking  at  his  sleeve.  "But  I  am  not  one. 
Now,  there  you  mistake.  I  am  often  out 
before  the  sun,  and  travel  home  when  he 
has  gone  to  rest.  I  am  away  in  the  woods 
before  the  day  has  reached  the  shady  places, 
and  am  often  there  when  the  bright  moon 
is  peeping  through  the  boughs,  and  looking 
down  upon  the  oUier  moon  that  lives  in  wa- 
ter. As  I  walk  along,  I  try  to  find,  among 
the  grass  and  moss,  some  of  that  small  mo- 
ney for  which  she  works  so  hard  and  used 
to  shed  so  many  tears.  As  I  lie  asleep  in 
tne  shade,  I  dream  of  it — dream  of  digging 
U  up  in  heaps;  and  spying  it  out,  hidden 


under  bushes;  and  seeing  it  sparkle,  as  the 
dew-drops  do,  among  the  leaves.  But  I  ne- 
ver find  it.  Tell  me  where  it  is.  I'd  go 
there,  if  the  journey  were  a  whole  year 
long,  because  I  know  she  would  be  happier 
when  I  came  home  and  brought  some  with 
me.  Speak  again.  I'll  listen  to  you  if  yoa 
talk  all  night." 

The  blind  man  passed  his  hand  lightly 
over  the  poor  fellow's  face,  and  finding  that 
his  elbows  were  planted  on  the  table,  that 
his  chin  rested  on  his  two  hands,  that  he 
leaned  eagerly  forward,  and  that  his  whole 
manner  expressed  the  utmost  interest  and 
anxiety,  paused  for  a  minute  as  though  he 
desired  the  widow  to  observe  this  fully,  and 
then  made  answer : 

"It's  in  the  world,  bold  Barnaby,  the 
merry  world ;  not  in  solitary  places  like 
those  you  pass  your  time  in,  but  in  crowds, 
in  crowds,  and  where  there 's  noise  and 
rattle." 

"  Good !  good  !"  cried  Barnaby,  rubbing 
hands.  "  Yes !  I  love  that.  Grip  loves  it 
too.     It  suits  us  both.     That's  brave  !" 

"  — The  kind  of  places,"  said  the  blind 
man,  "that  a  young  fellow  likes,  and  [i\ 
which  a  good  son  may  do  more  for  his  mo- 
ther, and  himself  to  boot,  in  a  month,  than 
he  could  here  in  all  his  life — that  is,  if  he 
had  a  friend,  you  know,  and  some  one  to 
advise  with." 

"  You  hear  this,  mother  ?"  cried  Barna- 
by, turning  to  her  with  delight.  "Never 
tell  me  we  shouldn't  heed  it,  if  it  lay  shin- 
ing at  our  feet.  Why  do  we  heed  it  so 
much  now?  Why  do  you  toil  from  morn- 
ing until  night?" 

"Surely,"  said  the  blind  man,  "surely. 
Have  you  no  answer,  widow?  Is  your 
mind,"  he  slowly  added,  "not  made  up 
yet?" 

"  Let  me  speak  with  you,"  she  answer- 
ed, "apart." 

"  Lay  your  hand  upon  my  sleeve,"  said 
Stagg,  rising  from  the  table ;  "  and  lead  me 
where  you  will.  Courage,  bold  Barnaby. 
We'll  talk  more  of  this:  I've  a  fancy  for 
you.  Wait  there  till  I  come  back.  Now, 
widow." 

She  led  him  out  the  door,  and  into  the 
little  garden,  where  they  stopped. 

"  You  are  a  fit  agent,"  she  said,  in  a  half- 
breathless  manner,  "  and  well  represent  the 
.  man  who  sent  you  here." 


'■r 


m 


^^i  .-^ 


?:.     .J^:'5^':'-"%"'^^mil,^.:?';?''^   '^^-^   i^C< 


Q^aa'(^  f.^T/Z/./zy  ^AJa?//t/r//J  ^r 


BARNiiBY    RUDGE. 


195 


"  I  '11  tell  him  that  you  said  so,"  Stajr? 
retorted.  "  He  lias  a  regard  for  you,  and 
will  respect  me  the  more  (if  possible)  for 
your  praise.  We  must  have  our  rights, 
widow." 

"  Rights !  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that 
a  word  from  me — " 

"  Why  do  you  stop?"  returned  the  blind 
man  calmly,  after  a  long  pause.  "Do  I 
know  that  a  word  from  you  would  place 
my  friend  in  the  last  position  of  the  dance 
of  life  !  Yes,  1  do.  What  of  that?  It  will 
never  be  spoken,  widow." 

"  You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Quite — so  sure,  that  I  don't  come  here 
to  discuss  the  question.  I  say  we  must 
have  our  rights,  or  we  must  be  bought  off. 
Keep  to  that  point,  or  let  me  return  to  my 
young  friend,  for  1  have  an  interest  in  the 
lad,  and  desire  to  put  him  in  the  way  of 
making  his  fortune.  Bah !  you  needn't 
speak,"  he  added  hastily ;  "  I  know  wiiat 
you  would  say  :  you  have  hinted  at  it  once 
already.  Have  I  no  feeling  for  you,  be- 
cause 1  am  blind!  No,  I  have  not.  Why 
do  you  expect  me,  being  in  darkness,  to  be 
better  than  men  who  have  their  sight  — 
why  should  youl  Is  the  hand  of  God  more 
manifest  in  my  having  no  eyes,  than  in 
your  having  two"!  It's  the  cant  of  you 
folks  to  be  horrified  if  a  blind  man  robs,  or 
lies,  or  steals;  oh  yes,  it's  far  worse  in  him, 
who  can  barely  live  on  the  few  halfpence 
that  are  thrown  to  him  in  your  crowded 
streets,  than  in  you,  who  can  see,  and  work, 
and  are  not  dependent  on  the  mercies  of  the 
world,  A  curse  on  you  !  You  who  have 
seven  senses  may  be  wicked  at  your  plea- 
sure ;  we  who  have  six,  and  want  the  most 
important,  are  to  live  and  be  moral  on  our 
affliction.  The  true  charity  and  justice  of 
rich  to  poor,  all  the  world  over  !" 

He  paused  a  moment  when  he  had  said 
these  words,  and  caught  the  sound  of  mo- 
ney, jingling  in  her  hand. 

"  Well  1"  he  cried,  quickly  resuming  his 
former  manner.  "  That  should  lead  to 
something.     The  point,  widow?" 

"First  answer  me  one  question,"  she  re- 
plied. "  You  say  he  is  close  at  hand.  Has 
he  left  London  ?" 

"  Being  close  at  hand,  widow,  it  would 
seem  he  has,"  returned  the  blind  man. 

"  I  mean,  for  good  ?     You  know  that." 

"  Yes,  for  good.  The  truth  is,  widow. 
that  his  making  a  longer  stay  there  mijrht 
have  had  disagreeable  consequences.  He 
has  come  away  for  that  reason." 

"  Listen,"  said  the  widow,  telling  some 
money  out,  upon  a  bench  beside  them. 
"Count." 

"Six,"  said  the  blind  man,  listening  at- 
tentively.    "  Any  more  ?" 


"They  are  the  savings"  she  answered 
"  of  five  years.     Six  guineas." 

He  put  out  his  hand  for  one  of  the  coins; 
felt  it  carefully,  put  it  between  his  teeth, 
rung  it  on  the  bench ;  and  nodded  to  her  to 
proceed. 

"  These  have  been  scraped  together  and 
laid  by,  lest  sickness  or  death  should  sepa- 
rate my  son  and  me.  They  have  been  pur- 
chased at  the  price  of  much  hunger,  hard 
labour,  and  want  of  rest.  If  you  can  take 
them — do — on  condition  that  you  leave  this 
place  upon  the  instant,  and  enter  no  more 
into  that  room,  where  he  sits  now,  expect- 
ing your  return." 

"  Six  guineas,"  said  the  blind  man,  shak- 
ing his  head,  "  though  of  the  fullest  weight 
that  were  ever  coined,  fall  very  far  short  of 
twenty  pounds,  widow." 

"  For  such  a  sum,  as  you  know,  I  must 
write  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country.  To 
do  that,  and  receive  an  answer,  I  must  have 
time." 

"Two  days?"  said  Stagg. 

"  More." 

"Four  days?" 

"  A  week.  Return  on  this  day  week,  at 
the  same  hour,  but  not  to  the  house.  Wait 
at  the  corner  of  the  lane." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  blind  man,  with  a 
crafty  look,  "I  shall  find  you  there?" 

"  Where  else  can  I  take  refuge?  Is  it 
not  enough  that  you  have  made  a  beggar 
of  me,  and  that  I  have  sacrificed  my  whole 
store,  so  hardly  earned,  to  preserve  this 
home  ?" 

"  Humph  !"  said  the  blind  man,  after  some 
consideration.  "  Set  me  with  my  face  to- 
wards the  point  you  speak  of,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.     Is  this  the  spot  ?" 

"  It  is." 

"  On  this  day  week  at  sunset.  And  think 
of  him  within  doors. — For  the  present,  good 
night." 

She  made  him  no  answer,  nor  did  he  stop 
for  any.  He  went  slowly  away,  turning 
his  head  from  time  to  time,  and  stopping  to 
listen,  as  if  he  were  curious  to  know  uhe- 
tiier  he  was  watched  by  any  one.  The 
shadows  of  night  were  closing  fast  around, 
and  he  was  soun  lost  in  the  gloom.  It  was 
not,  however,  until  she  had  traversed  ihe 
lane  from  end  to  end,  and  made  sure  that 
he  was  gone,  tliat  she  re-entered  the  cot- 
tnge,  and  hurrifdiy  barred  the  door  and 
window. 

"  Mother !"  said  Barnaby.  "  What  is  the 
matter?     Where  is  the  blind  man''" 

"  He  is  gone." 

"  Gone  !"  he  cried,  starting  up.  "  I  must 
have  more  talk  with  him.  Which  way  did 
he  take?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  folding 


196 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


her  nrm?  about  him.  "You  must  not  go 
out  to-night.  There  are  ghosts  and  dreams 
abroad." 

"Ay"!"  said  Barnaby,  in  a  frightened 
whisper. 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  stir.  We  must  leave 
this  place  to-morrow." 

"This  place!  This  cottage  —  and  the 
little  garden,  mother !" 

"  Yes !  To-morrow  morning  at  sunrise. 
We  must  travel  to  London  ;  lose  ourselves 
in  that  wide  place  —  there  would  be  some 
trace  of  us  in  any  other  town — then  travel 
on  again,  and  find  some  new  abode." 

Little  persuasion  was  required  to  recon- 
cile Barnaby  to  anything  that  promised 
change.  In  another  minute  he  was  wild 
with  delight;  in  another,  full  of  grief  at 
the  prospect  of  parting  with  his  friends  the 
dogs ;  in  another,  wild  again  ;  then  he  was 
fearful  of  what  she  had  said  to  prevent  his 
wandering  abroad  that  night,  and  full  of 
terrors  and  strange  questions.  His  light- 
heartedness  in  the  end  surmounted  all  his 
other  feelings,  and  lying  down  in  his 
clothes  to  the  end  that  he  might  be  ready 
on  the  morrow,  he  soon  fell  fast  asleep  be- 
fore the  poor  turf  fire. 

His  mother  did  not  close  her  eyes,  but 
sat  beside  him,  watching.  Every  breath 
of  wind  sounded  in  her  ears  like  that  dread- 
ed footstep  at  the  door,  or  like  that  hand 
upon  the  latch,  and  made  the  calm  summer 
night  a  night  of  horror.  At  length  the  wel- 
come day  appeared.     When  she  had  made 


the  little  preparations  which  were  needfui 
for  their  journey,  and  had  prayed  upon  hei 
knees  with  many  tears,  she  roused  Barnaby, 
who  jumped  up  gaily  at  her  summons. 

His  clothes  were  few  enougii,  and  to 
carry  Grip  was  a  labour  of  love.  As  the 
sun  shed  his  earliest  beams  upon  the  earth, 
they  closed  the  door  of  their  deserted  home 
and  turned  away.  The  sky  was  blue  and 
bright.  The  air  was  fresh  and  filled  with 
a  thousand  perfumes.  Barnaby  looked  up- 
ward, and  laughed  with  all  his  heart. 

But  it  was  a  day  he  usually  devoted  to  a 
long  ramble,  and  one  of  the  dogs — tiie  ug- 
liest of  them  all — came  bounding  up,  and 
jumping  round  him  In  the  fulness  of  his  joy. 
He  had  to  bid  him  go  back  in  a  surly  tone, 
and  his  heart  smote  him  while  he  did  so 
The  dog  retreated;  turned  with  a  half- 
incredulous,  half-imploring  look;  came  a 
little  back  ;  and  stopped. 

It  was  the,  last  appeal  of  an  old  compa- 
nion and  a  faithful  friend — cast  off".  Bar- 
naby could  bear  no  more,  and  as  he  shook 
his  head  and  waved  his  playmate  home,  he 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh  mother,  mother,  how  mournful  he 
will  be  when  he  scratches  at  the  door,  and 
finds  it  always  shut!" 

There  was  such  a  sense  of  home  in  the 
thought,  that  though  her  own  eyes  over- 
flowed she  would  not  have  obliterated  the 
recollection  of  it,  either  from  her  own 
mind  or  from  his,  for  the  wealth  of  the 
whole  wide  world. 


■(i.S'l^&ii-^-llLZ— 1 


m 


yAe-^y/Za^/^^/ia/e  //'/ey/A'/z/y/r/J^ai^/MA/  ////// 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


L&} 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-SEVENTH. 


In  the  exhaustless  catalogue  of  Heaven's 
mercies  to  mankind,  tlie  power  we  have  of 
finding  some  germs  of  comfort  in  the  hard- 
est trials  must  ever  occupy  the  foremost 
place;  not  only  because  it  supports  and 
upholds  us  when  we  most  require  to  be 
sustained,  but  because  in  this  source  of  con- 
solation there  is  something,  we  have  reason 
to  believe,  of  the  divine  spirit;  something 
of  that  goodness  which  detects  amidst  our 
own  evil  doings,  a  redeeming  quality ; 
something  which,  even  in  our  fallen  nature, 
we  possess  in  common  with  the  angels; 
which  had  its  being  in  the  old  time  when 
they  trod  the  earth,  and  lingers  on  it  yet, 
in  pity. 

How  often,  on  their  journey,  did  the 
widow  remember  with  a  grateful  heart, 
that  out  of  his  deprivation  Barnaby's  cheer- 
fulness and  affection  sprung  !  How  often 
did  she  call  to  mind  that  but  for  that,  he 
might  have  been  sullen,  morose,  unkind, 
far  removed  from  her  —  vicious,  perhaps, 
and  cruel  !  How  often  had  she  cause  for 
comfort,  in  his  strength,  and  hope,  and  in 
his  simple  nature !  Those  feeble  powers 
of  mind  which  rendered  him  so  soon  for- 
getful of  the  past,  save  in  brief  gleams  and 
flashes,  —  even  they  were  a  comfort  now. 
The  world  to  him  was  full  of  happiness; 
in  every  tree,  and  plant,  and  flower,  in 
every  bird,  and  beast,  and  tiny  insect  whom 
a  breath  of  summer  wind  laid  low  upon 
the  ground,  he  had  delight.  His  delight 
was  hers;  and  where  many  a  wise  son 
would  have  made  her  sorrowful,  this  poor 
light-hearted  idiot  filled  her  breast  with 
thankfulness  and  love. 

Their  stock  of  money  was  low,  but  from 
the  hoard  she  had  told  into  the  blind  man's 
hand,  the  widow  had  withheld  one  guinea. 
This,  with  the  few  pence  she  possessed  be- 
sides, was,  to  two  persons  of  their  frugal 
habits,  a  goodly  sum  in  bank.  Moreover, 
they  had  Grip  in  company  ;  and  when  they 
must  otherwise  have  changed  the  guinea, 
it  was  but  to  make  him  exhibit  outside  an 
alehouse  door,  or  in  a  village  street,  or  in 
the  grounds  or  gardens  of  a  mansion  of  the 
better  sort,  and  scores,  who  would  have 
iriven  nothing  in  charity,  were  ready  to 
bargain  for  more  amusement  from  the  talk- 
ing bird. 

One  day  —  for  they  moved  slowly,  and 
although  they  had  many  rides  in  carts  and 
wagons,  were  on  the  road  a  week  —  Bar- 
uaby,  with  Grip  upon  his  shoulder  and  his 

la 


mother  following,  begged  permission  at  a 
trim  lodge  to  go  up  to  the  great  house,  at 
the  other  end  of  the  avenue,  and  snow  his 
raven.  The  man  within  was  inclined  to 
give  them  admittance,  and  was  indeed 
about  to  do  so,  when  a  stout  gentleman 
with  a  long  whip  in  his  hand,  and  a  flushed 
face  which  seemed  to  indicate  that  he  had 
had  his  morning's  draught,  rode  up  to  the 
gate,  and  called  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with 
more  oaths  than  the  occasion  seemed  to 
warrant,  to  have  it  opened  directly. 

"  Who  hast  thou  got  here  ]"  asked  the 
gentleman,  angrily,  as  the  man  threw  the 
gate  wide  open,  and  pulled  off"  his  hat, 
"  who  are  these  1  Eh  1  ar't  a  beggar,  wo- 
man !" 

The  widow  answered,  with  a  curtsy 
that  they  were  poor  travellers. 

"  Vagrants,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  va- 
grants and  vagabonds.  Thee  wish  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  the  cage,  dost  thee 
— the  cage,  the  stocks,  and  the  whipping- 
post 1     Where  dost  come  from  1" 

She  told  him  in  a  timid  manner, — for  he 
was  very  loud,  hoarse,  and  red-faced, — and 
besought  him  not  to  be  angry,  for  they 
meant  no  harm,  and  would  go  upon  their 
way  that  moment. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  replied  the 
gentleman,  "  we  don't  allow  vagrants  to 
roam  about  this  place.  I  know  what  thou 
want'st — stray  linen  drying  on  hedges,  and 
stray  poultry,  eh  ■?  What  hast  got  in  that 
basket,  lazy  hound  1" 

"Grip,  Grip,  Grip — Grip  the  clever. 
Grip  the  wicked,  Grip  the  knowing — Grip, 
Grip,  Grip,  Grip,"  cried  the  raven,  whom 
Barnaby  had  shut  up  on  the  approach  Oi 
this  stern  personage.  "  I  'm  a  devil  I  'm  a 
devil  I'm  a  devil.  Never  say  die.  Hurrah 
Bow  wow  wow,  Polly  put  the  kettle  on 
we'll  all  have  tea." 

"Take  the  virmin  out,  scoundrel,"  said 
the  gentleman  ;  "and  let  me  see  him." 

Barnaby,  thus  condescendingly  addressed, 
produced  his  bird,  but  not  without  much 
fear  and  trembling,  and  set  him  down  upon 
the  ground  ;  which  he  had  no  sooner  done 
than  Grip  drew  fifty  corks  at  least,  and 
then  began  to  dance;  at  the  same  'ime 
eyeing  the  gentleman  with  surprising  in- 
solence of  manner,  and  screwing  his  head 
so  much  on  one  side  that  he  appeared  de 
sirous  of  screwing  it  oft"  upon  tlie  spot. 

The  cork-drawing  seemed  to  make  n 
greater    impression    on    the    gentleman  s 


198 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


mind  than  the  raven's  power  of  speech,  and 
was  indeed  particularly  adapted  to  his 
habits  and  capacity.  He  desired  to  have 
that  done  again,  but  despite  his  being  very 
peremptory,  and  notwithstanding  that  Bar- 
naby  coaxed  to  the  utmost.  Grip  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  the  request,  and  preserved  a 
dead  silence. 

"  Bring  him  along,"  said  the  gentleman, 
pointing  to  the  house.  But  Grip,  who  had 
watched  the  action,  anticipated  his  master, 
by  hopping  on  before  them  ;  —  constantly 
flapping  liis  wings,  and  screaming  "  cook  !" 
meanwhile,  as  a  hint,  perhaps,  that  there 
was  company  coming,  and  a  small  collation 
would  be  acceptable. 

Barnaby  and  his  mother  walked  on,  on 
either  side  of  the  gentleman  on  horseback, 
who  surveyed  each  of  them  from  time  to 
time  in  a  proud  and  coarse  manner,  and 
occasionally  thundered  out  some  question, 
the  tone  of  which  alarmed  Barnaby  so 
much  that  lie  could  find  no  answer,  and,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  could  make  him  no  re- 
ply. On  one  of  these  occasions,  when  the 
gentleman  aj^eared  disposed  to  exercise  his 
horsewhip,  the  widow  ventured  to  inform 
him,  in  a  low  voice  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  that  her  son  was  of  weak  mind. 

"  An  idiot,  eh  ]"  said  the  genileman,  look- 
ing at  Barnaby  as  he  spoke.  "  And  how 
long  hast  been  an  idiot "!" 

"  She  knows,"  was  Barnaby's  timid  an- 
swer, pointing  to  his  mother — "I — always, 
I  believe." 

"  From  his  birth,"  said  the  widow. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  cried  the  gentleman, 
'-not  a  bit  of  it.  It's  an  excuse  not  to 
work.  There  's  nothing  like  flogging  to 
cure  that  disorder.  I'd  make  a  difference 
in  him  in  ten  minutes,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Heaven  has  made  none  in  more  than 
twice  ten  years,  sir,"  said  the  widow  mildly. 

"Then  why  don't  you  shut  him  up?  we 
pay  enough  for  county  institutions,  damn 
'em.  But  thou'd  rather  drag  him  about 
to  excite  charity — of  course.  Ay,  I  know 
thee." 

Now,  this  gentleman  had  various  endear- 
ing appellations  among  his  intimate  friends. 
By  some  he  was  called  "a  country  gentle- 
man of  the  true  school,"  by  some  "a  fine 
old  country  gentleman,"  by  some  "  a  sport- 
ing gentleman,"  by  some  "a  thorough-bred 
Englishman,"  by  some  "a  genuine  John 
Bull;"  but  they  all  agreed  in  one  respect, 
and  that  was,  that  it  was  a  pity  there  were 
not  more  like  him,  and  that  because  there 
were  not,  the  country  was  going  to  rack 
and  ruin  everj  day.  He  was  in  the  com- 
mission of  the  peace,  and  could  write  his 
name  almost  legibly  ;  but  his  greatest  qual- 


ifications were,  that  he  was  more  severe 
with  poachers,  was  a  better  shot,  a  harder 
rider,  had  better  horses,  kept  better  dogs, 
could  eat  more  solid  food,  drink  more  strong 
wine,  go  to  bed  every  night  more  drunk, 
and  get  up  every  morning  more  sober,  than, 
any  man  in  ihe  county.  In  knowledge  of 
horseflesh  he  was  almost  equal  to  a  farrier, 
in  stable  learning  he  surpassed  his  own 
head  groom,  and  in  gluttony  not  a  pig  o"n 
his  estate  was  a  match  for  him.  He  had 
no  seat  in  Parliament  himself,  but  he  was 
extremely  patriotic,  and  usually  drove  his 
voters  up  to  the  poll  with  his  own  hands.  . 
He  was  warmly  attached  to  the  church, 
and  never  appointed  to  the  living  in  his  gift 
any  but  a  three-bottle  man  and  a  first-rale 
fox-hunter.  He  mistrusted  the  honesty  of 
all  poor  people  who  could  read  and  write, 
and  had  a  secret  jealousy  of  his  own  wife 
(a  young  lady  whom  he  had  married  for 
what  his" friends  called  "the  good  old  Eng- 
lish reason,"  that  her  father's  property  ad- 
joined his  own)  for  possessing  those  accom- 
plishments in  a  greater  degree  than  him- 
self. In  short,  Barnaby  being  an  idiot,  and 
Grip  a  creature  of  mere  brute  instinct,  it 
would  be  very  hard  to  say  what  this  gentle- 
man was. 

He  rode  up  to  the  door  of  a  handsome 
house  approached  by  a  great  flight  of  steps, 
where  a  man  was  waiting  to  take  his  horse, 
and  led  the  way  into  a  large  hall,  which, 
spacious  as  it  was,  was  tainted  with  the 
fumes  of  last  night's  stale  debauch.  Great- 
coats, riding-whips,  bridles,  topboots,  spurs, 
and  such  gear,  were  strewn  about  on  all 
sides,  and  formed,  with  some  huge  stags' 
antlers,  and  a  few  portraits  of  dogs  and 
horses,  its  principal  embellishments. 

Throwing  himself  into  a  great  chair  (in 
which,  by  the  bye,  he  often  snored  away 
the  night,  when  he  had  been,  according  to 
his  admirers,  a  finer  country  gentleman 
than  usual)  he  bade  the  man  tell  his  mis- 
tress to  come  down:  and  presently  there 
appeared,  a  little  flurried,  as  it  seemed,  by 
the  unwonted  summons,  a  lady  much  young- 
er than  himself,  who  had  the  appearance 
of  being  in  delicate  health,  and  not  too 
happy. 

"  Here !  Thou  'st  no  delight  in  following 
the  hounds  as  an  Englishwoman  should 
have,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  See  to  thia 
here.     That'll  please  thee,  perhjips." 

The  lady  smiled,  sat  down  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  him,  and  glanced  at  Barnaby 
with  a  look  of  pity. 

"  He 's  an  idiot,  the  woman  says,"  ob- 
served the  gentleman,  shaking  his  head* 
"  I  don't  believe  it." 

"  Are  you  his  mother !"  asked  the  lady 


1^ 


i/fu/:/^  ay?u/  rX/Z^A^  'A/ A  U-a?a/77^y7^2f-  ^^-^  ^-^ 


aK— jl^ 


^Sf: 


■'r^.^»jf,. 


.nyL 


■/n/ . y  ■  A/J r  M' ///f^ }   r^^j//  ;^  //u^  (c,  ///-/// y  C/t^ ////r^///a /i 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


199 


She  answered  yes. 

"VVhal's  tiie  use  of  asking:  herV  said 
the  gentleman,  thrusting  his  hands  into  his 
breeciies  pockets.  "  She  '11  tell  thee  so,  of 
course.  Mo.st  likely  he 's  hired,  at  so  much 
a  day.  There.  Get  on.  Make  him  do 
something." 

Grip  having  by  this  time  recovered  his 
urbanity,  condescended,  at  Barnaby's  soli- 
citation, to  repeat  his  various  phrases  of 
speech,  and  to  go  through  tiie  whole  of  liis 
perforiiKinces  with  the  utmost  success.  The 
corks,  and  tlie  never  say  die,  afforded  the 
genllem-m  so  much  delight  tliat  he  demand- 
ed the  repetition  of  this  part  of  the  enter- 
tainment, until  Grip  got  into  his  basket, 
and  positively  refused  to  say  another  word, 
good  or  bad.  The  lady  too,  was  much 
amused  with  him;  and  the  closing  point  of 
liis  obstinacy  so  delighted  her  husband  that 
he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  de- 
manded his  price. 

Barnaby  looked  as  though  he  didn't  un- 
derstand his  meaning.  Probably  he  did 
not. 

"  His  price,"  said  the  gentleman,  rattling 
the  money  in  his  pockets,  "  what  dost  want 
for  him  !  How  much]" 

"  He's  not  to  be  sold,"  replied  Barnaby, 
shutting  up  the  basket  in  a  great  hurry, 
and  tlirowing  the  strap  over  his  shoulder. 
"  jMother,  come  away." 

"Thou  seest  how  much  of  an  idiot  he  is. 
book-learner,"  said  the  gentleman,  looking 
scornfully  at  his  wife.  "He  can  make  a 
bargain.  What  dost  want  for  him,  old  wo- 
man !" 

"  He  is  my  son's  constant  companion," 
said  the  widow.  "  He  is  not  to  be  sold,  sir, 
indeed," 

"  Not  to  be  sold  !"  cried  the  gentleman, 
growing  ten  times  redder,  hoarser,  and 
louder  than  before.     "Not  to  be  sold  !" 

"Indeed  no,"  she  answered.  "  We  have 
never  thought  of  parting  with  him,  sir,  I 
do  assure  you." 

He  was  evidently  about  to  make  a  very 
passionate  retort,  when  a  few  murmured 
words  from  his  wife  happening  to  catch  his 
ear,  he  turned  sharply  round,  and  said, 
"Eh!  What!" 

"  We  can  hardly  expect  them  to  sell  the 
bird,  against  their  own  desire,"  she  falter- 
ed.    "  If  they  prefer  to  keep  him " 

"Prefer  to  kof  p  iiim !"  he  echoed. 
"These  people,  who  go  tramping  about  the 
country,  a  pilfering,  and  vagabondizing  on 
all  hands,  prefer  to  keep  a  bird,  when  a 
landed   proprietor   and   a  justice  asks  his 

rrice!  That  old  woman's  been  to  school. 
know  she  h.s.     Don't  tell  me  no,"  he 
;-oared  to  the  widow,  "  I  say,  yes." 


Barnaby's  mother  pleaded  guilty  to  the 
accusation,  and  hoped  there  was  no  harm 
in  it. 

"  No  harm  !"  said  the  gentleman.  "  No. 
No  harm.  No  harm,  ye  old  rebel,  not  a 
bit  of  harm.  If  my  clerk  was  here,  I  'd 
set  ye  in  the  stocks,  I  would,  or  lay  ye  in 
jail  tor  prowling  up  and  down,  on  the  look- 
out for  petty  larcenies,  ye  limb  of  a  gspsy 
Here,  Simon,  put  these  pilferers  out,  shove 
'em  into  the  road,  out  with  'em  !  Ye  don't 
want  to  sell  the  bird,  ye  that  come  here  to 
beg,  don't  ye]  If  they  an't  out  in  double- 
quick,  set  the  dogs  upon  'em  !" 

They  waited  for  no  further  dismissal,  but 
tied  precipitately,  leaving  the  gentieiirin 
to  storm  away  by  himself  (for  the  poor  lady 
had  already  retreated),  and  making  a  great 
many  vain  attempts  to  silence  Grip,  who, 
excited  by  the  noise,  drew  corks  enough 
for  a  city  feast  as  they  hurried  down  the 
avenue,  and  appeared  to  congratulate  him- 
self beyond  measure  on  having  been  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance.  When  they  liad 
nearly  reached  the  lodge,  another  servant, 
emerging  from  the  shrubbery,  feigned  to 
be  very  active  in  ordering  them  off,  but 
this  man  put  a  crown  into  the  widow's 
hand,  and  whispering  that  his  lady  sent  it, 
thrust  them  gently  from  the  gate. 

This  incident  only  suggested  to  the 
widow's  mind,  when  they  halted  at  an  ale- 
house some  miles  further  on,  and  heard  tlie 
justice's  character  as  given  by  his  friends, 
that  perhaps  soiiietiiing  more  than  capacity 
of  stomach  and  tastes  for  the  kennel  and 
the  stable,  were  required  to  form  either  a 
perfect  country  gentleman,  a  thorouyh-bred 
Englishman,  or  a  genuine  John  Bull;  and 
that  possibly  the  terms  were  sometimes 
misappropriated,  not  to  say  disgraced.  She 
little  thought  then,  that  a  circumstance  so 
slight  would  ever  influence  their  future 
fortunes;  but  time  and  experience  enlight- 
ened her  in  this  respect. 

"  JMother,"  said  Barnaby,  as  they  were 
sitting  next  day  in  a  wagon  which  was  to 
take  them  to  within  ten  miles  of  the  capi- 
tal, "  we  're  going  to  London  first,  you  said. 
Shall  wc  see  that  blind  man  there  1" 

She  was  about  to  answer  "  Heaven  for- 
bid !"  but  checked  herself,  and  told  him  No, 
she  thought  not;  why  did  he  ask  1 

"  He  's  a  wise  man,"  said  Barnaby,  with 

a  thoughtful  countenance.     "I  wisf;    tli:it 

we  may  meet  with  him  again.     What  was 

it  that  he  said  of  crowds!     That  gold  was 

to  be  found  where  people  crowded,  and  not 

among  the  trees  and  in  such  quiet  pla'jes? 

i  He  spoke  as  if  he  loved  it;  London  is  i 

]  crowded  place;  I  think  we  shall  meet  hiwi 

I  there. 


200 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"But  why  do  you  desire  to  see  him, 
love?"  she  asked. 

"  Because,"  said  Barnaby,  looking  wist- 
fully at  her,  "he  talked  to  me  about  gold, 
which  is  a  rare  thing,  and  say  what  you 
will,  a  thing  yon  would  like  to  have,  1 
know.  And  because  he  came  and  went 
away  so  strangely — just  as  white-headed 
old  men  come  sometimes  to  my  bed's  foot 
in  the  night,  and  say  what  I  can't  remem- 
ber when  the  bright  day  returns.  He  told 
me  he  'd  come  back.  I  wonder  why  he 
broke  his  word  !" 

"  But  you  never  thought  of  being  rich 
or  gay,  before,  dear  Barnaby.  You  have 
always  been  contented." 

He  laughed  and  bade  her  say  that  again, 
then  cried,  "  Ay,  ay — oh,  yes,"  and  laugh- 
ed once  more.  Then  something  passed 
that  caught  his  fancy,  and  the  topic  wan- 
dered from  his  mind,  and  was  succeeded 
by  another  just  as  fleeting. 

But  it  was  plain  from  what  he  had  said, 
and  from  his  returning  to  the  point  more 
than  once  that  day,  and  on  the  next,  that 
the  blind  man's  visit,  and  indeed  his  words, 
had  taken  strong  possession  of  his  mind. 
Whether  the  idea  of  wealth  had  occurred 
to  him  for  the  first  time  on  looking  at  the 
golden  clouds  that  evening  —  and  images 
were  often  presented  to  his  thoughts  by 
outward  objects  quite  as  remote  and  dis- 
tant; or  whether  their  poor  and  humble 
way  of  life  had  suggested  it,  by  contrast, 
long  ago;  or  whether  the  accident  (as  he 
would  deem  it)  of  the  blind  man's  pursuing 
the  current  of  his  own  remarks,  had  done 
so  at  the  moment;  or  he  had  been  impress- 
ed by  the  mere  circumstance  of  the  man 


being  blind,  and,  therefore,  unlike  any  one 
with  whom  he  had  talked  before;  it  was 
impossible  to  tell.  She  tried  every  means 
to  discover,  but  in  vain  ;  and  the  probability 
is  that  Barnaby  himself  was  equally  in  the 
dark. 

It  filled  her  with  uneasiness  to  find  him 
harping  on  this  string,  but  all  that  she  coula 
do,  was  to  lead  him  quickly  to  some  other 
subject,  and  to  dismiss  it  from  his  brain. 
To  caution  him  against  their  visiter,  to 
show  any  fear  or  suspicion  in  reference  to 
him,  would  only  be,  she  feared,  to  increase 
that  interest  with  which  Barnaby  regarded 
him,  and  to  strengthen  his  desire  to  meet 
him  once  again.  She  hoped,  by  plunging 
into  the  crowd,  to  rid  herself  of  her  terri- 
ble pursuer,  and  then,  by  journeying  to  a 
distance  and  observing  increased  caution, 
if  that  were  possible,  tolive  again  unknown, 
in  secresy  and  peace. 

They  reached,  in  course  of  time,  their 
halting-place  within  ten  miles  of  London, 
and  lay  there  for  the  night,  after  bargain- 
ing to  be  carried  on  for  a  trifle  next  day,  in 
a  light  van  which  was  returning  empty, 
and  was  to  start  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  driver  was  punctual,  the  road 
good — save  for  the  dust,  the  weather  being 
very  hot  and  dry — and  at  seven  in  the  fore- 
noon of  Friday  the  second  of  June,  one 
thonsarwl  seven  hundred  and  eighty,  they 
alighted  at  the  foot  of  Westminster  Bridge, 
bade  their  conductor  farewell,  and  stood 
alone,  together,  on  the  scorching  pavement. 
For  the  freshness  which  night  sheds  upon 
such  busy  thoroughfares  had  already  de- 
parted, and  the  sun  was  shining  with  un- 
common lustre. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-EIGHTH. 


Uncertain  where  to  go  next,  and  be- 
wildered by  the  crowd  of  people  who  were 
already  astir,  they  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
recesses  on  the  bridgp,  to  rest.  They  soon 
became  aware  that  the  stream  of  life  was 
all  pouring  one  way,  and  that  a  vast  throng 
of  persons  were  crossing  the  river  from  the 
Middlesex  to  the  Surrey  shore,  in  unusual 
haste  and  evident  excitement.  They  were, 
tor  the  most  part,  in  knots  of  two  or  three, 
or  sometimes  half-a-dozen;  they  spoke  lit- 
tle together  —  many  of  them  were  quite 
ailent;  and  hurried  on  as  if  they  had  one 


absorbing  object  in  view,  which  was  com* 
mon  to  them  all. 

They  were  surprised  to  see  that  nearly 
every  man  in  this  great  concourse,  which 
still  came  pouring  past,  without  slackening 
in  the  lea«t,  wore  in  his  hat  a  blue  cockade ; 
and  that  the  chance  passengers  who  were 
not  so  decorated,  appeared  timidly  anxious 
to  escape  observation  or  attack,  and  gave 
them  the  wall  as  if  they  would  conciliate 
them.  This,  however,  was  natural  enough, 
considering  their  inferiority  in  point  of  num- 
bers ;  for  the  proportion  of  those  who  wore 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


201 


blue  cockades,  to  those  who  were  dressed 
as  usual,  was  at  least  forty  or  fifty  to  one. 
There  was  no  quarrelling-,  however:  the 
hlue  cockades  went  swarming  on,  passing 
each  (ither  when  they  could,  and  makinif 
all  the  speed  that  was  possible  in  such  a 
multitude;  and  exchanged  nothing  more 
than  looks,  and  very  often  not  even  those, 
with  such  of  the  passers-by  as  were  not  of 
their  number. 

At  first,  the  current  of  people  had  been 
confined  to  the  two  pathways,  and  but  a 
few  more  eager  stragglers  kept  the  road. 
But  after  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  passage 
was  completely  blocked  up  by  the  great 
press,  which,  being  now  closely  wedged 
together,  and  impeded  by  the  carts  and 
coaches  it  encountered,  moved  but  slowly, 
and  was  sometimes  at  a  stand  for  five  or 
trn  minutes  together. 

Afier  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  hours,  the 
numbers  began  to  diminish  visibly,  and 
gradually  dwindling  away,  by  little  and  lit- 
tle, left  the  bridge  quite  clear,  save  that, 
now  and  then,  some  hot  and  dusty  man  with 
the  cockade  in  his  hat,  and  his  coat  thrown 
gver  his  shoulder,  went  panting  by,  fearful 
of  being  too  late,  or  stopped  to  ask  which 
way  his  friends  had  taken,  and  being  direct- 
ed, hastened  on  again  like  one  refreshed. 
In  this  comparative  solitude,  which  seemed 
quite  strange  and  novel  after  the  late  crowd, 
the  widow  had  for  the  first  time  an  oppor- 
tunity of  inquiring  of  an  old  man  who  came 
and  sat  beside  them,  what  was  the  meaning 
of  that  crreat  assemblage. 

"Why,  where  have  yon  come  from,"  he 
returned,  "  that  you  haven't  heard  of  Lord 
George  Gordon's  great  association !  This 
is  the  day  that  he  presents  the  petition 
against  the  Catholics,  God  bless  him!" 

"  What  have  all  these  men  to  do  with 
thatV  she  asked. 

«  What  have  they  to  do  with  it !"  the  old 
man  replied.  "  Why,  how  you  talk  !  Don't 
you  know  his  Lordship  has  declared  he 
won't  present  it  to  the  liouse  at  all,  unless 
it  is  attended  to  the  door  by  forty  thousand 
good  and  true  men  at  least]  There's  a 
crowd  for  you !" 

"A  crowd  indeed!"  said  Barnaby.  "Do 
you  hear  that,  mother  !" 

"  And  they  're  mustering  yonder,  as  I  am 
told,"  resumed  the  old  man,  "nigh  upon  a 
hundred  thousand  strong.  Ah !  Let  Lord 
George  alone.  He  knows  his  power. 
There'll  be  a  good  many  faces  inside  them 
three  windows  over  there,"  and  he  pointed 
to  where  the  House  of  Commons  overlook- 
ed the  river,  "that'll  turn  pale  when  good 
Lord  George  gets  up  this  afternoon,  and 
with  reason  too.     Ay,  ay.     Let  his  Lord- 


ship filone.  Let  him  alone.  lie  knows  !" 
And  so,  with  much  mumbling  and  chuck- 
ling and  shaking  of  his  forefinger,  he  rose, 
with  the  assistance  of  his  stick,  and  totter- 
ed off. 

"  Mother !"  said  Barnaby,  "  that 's  a 
bravo  crowd  he  talks  of     Come!" 

"Not  to  join  it!"  cried  his  mother. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  answered,  plucking  at 
her  sleeve.     "Why  not?  Come!" 

"  You  don't  know,"  she  urged,  "  what 
mischief  they  may  do,  where  they  may  lead 
you,  what  their  meaning  is.  Dear  Barna- 
by, fiir  my  sake " 

"For  your  sake!"  he  cried,  patting  her 
hand.  "  Well !  It  is  for  your  sake,  mother. 
You  remember  what  the  blind  man  said 
about  the  gold.  Here's  a  brave  crowd! 
Come  !  Or  wait  till  I  come  back — yes,  yes, 
wait  here." 

She  tried  with  all  the  earnestness  her 
fears  engendered,  to  turn  him  from  his  pur- 
pose, but  in  vain.  He  was  stooping  dov.m 
to  buckle  on  his  shoe,  when  a  hackney- 
coach  passed  them  rather  quickly,  and  a 
voice  inside  called  to  the  driver  to  stop. 

"  Young  man,"  said  a  voice  within. 

"Who's  thatl"  cried  Barnaby,  looking 
up. 

"Do  you  wear  this  ornament  I"  return- 
ed the  stranger,  holding  out  a  blue  cock- 
ade. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  no.  Pray  do  not 
give  it  him  !"  exclaimed  the  widow. 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  woman,"  said  the 
man  within  the  coach,  coldly.  "  Leave  the 
young  man  to  his  choice;  he's  old  enousrh 
to  make  it,  and  to  snap  your  apron-strings. 
He  knows,  without  your  telling,  whether 
he  wears  the  sign  of  a  loyal  Englishman 
or  not." 

Barnaby,  trembling  with  impatience, 
cried,  "  Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  do,"  as  he  had  cried 
a  dozen  times  already.  The  man  threw 
him  a  cockade,  and  crying  "  Make  haste  to 
Saint  George's  Fields,"  ordered  the  coach- 
man to  drive  on  fast;  and  left  them. 

With  hands  that  trembled  with  his  ea- 
gerness to  fix  the  bauble  in  his  hat,  Barna- 
by was  adjusting  it  as  he  best  could,  and 
hurriedly  replying  to  the  tears  and  entrea- 
ties of  his  mother,  when  two  gentlemen 
passed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  way. 
Observing  them,  and  seeing  how  Barnaby 
was  occupied,  they  stopped,  whispered  to- 
gether for  an  instant,  turned  back,  and 
came  over  to  them. 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here"!"  said  one 
of  them,  who  was  dressed  in  a  plain  suit  cjf 
black,  wore  long  lank  hair,  and  carried  a 
great  cane.  "  Why  have  you  not  gone  with 
the  rest?" 


>02 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


"I  am  going,  sir,"  replied  Barnaby,  fin-  | 
isliing  his  task,  and  putting  his  hat  on  with  i 
an  air  of  pride.  "I  sliali  be  there  directly."  j 

"Sfiy  my  Lord,  young  man,  when  his 
Lordship  does  you  the  honour  of  speaking  | 
to  you,"  said  the  second  gentleman  mild-  ' 
ly.  "  If  you  don't  know  Lord  George  Gor-  ! 
don  when  you  see  him,  it's  high  time  you  ] 
should."  j 

"iVay,  Gashford,"  said  Lord  George,  a.s 
Barnaby  pulled  otf  his  hat  again  and  made  , 
him  a  low  bow,  "it's  no  great  matter  on  a  ' 
day  like  this,  which  every  Enijlishman  will 
remember  with  delicrht  and  pride.  Put  on 
your  hat,  friend,  and  follow  us,  for  you  lag 
behind  and  are  late.  It's  past  ten  now. 
Didn't  you  know  that  the  hour  of  assem- 
bling was  ten  o'clock  !" 

Bjrnaby  shook  his  head,  and  looked  va- 
cantly from  one  to  the  oth«r.  : 

"  You  might  have  known  it,  friend,"  said 
Gasliford,  "  it  was  perfectly  understood. 
How  came  you  to  be  so  ill  informed  !"  j 

"  He  cannot  tell  you,  sir,"  the  widow  in-  l 
terposed.    "  It's  of  no  use  to  ask  him.    We 
are  but  this  morning  come  from  a  lonof  dis-  i 
tance  in  the  country,  and  know  nothing  of  ! 
these  matters."  | 

"  The  cause  has  taken  a  deep  root,  and 
has  spread  its  branches  far  and  wide,"  said 


Lord  George  to  his  secretary.  "  This  is  a 
pleasant  hearing.     I  thank  Heaven  for  it !" 

"  Amen  !"  cried  Gashford,  with  a  solemn 
face. 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  my  Lord," 
said  the  widow.  "  Pardon  me,  but  you 
cruelly  mistake  my  meaning.  We  know 
nothing  of  these  matters.  We  have  no 
desire  or  right  to  join  in  what  you  are 
about  to  do.  This  is  my  son,  my  poor  af- 
flicted son,  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life. 
In  mercy's  name,  my  lord,  go  your  way 
alone,  and  do  not  tempt  him  into  danger!" 

"  iMy  oood  woman,"  said  Gasliford,  "  how 
can  ycju  ! — Dear  me  ! — What  do  you  mean 
by  temptinsf  and  by  danger?  Do  you  think 
his  Lordship  is  a  roaring  lion,  going  about 
and  seeking  whom  he  may  devour?  God 
bless  me  !" 

"No,  no,  my  Lord,  forgive  me,"  implored 
the  widow,  laying  botli  her  hands  upon  hia 
breast,  and  scarcely  knowing  what  she  did, 
or  said,  in  the  earnestness  of  her  supplica- 
tion, "  but  there  are  reasons  why  you  should 
hear  my  earnest,  mother's  prayer,  and 
leave  my  son  with  me.  Oh  do!  He  is  not 
in  his  right  senses,  he  is  not,  indeed  !" 

"It  is  a  bad  sii,'n  of  the  wickedness  of 
these  times,"  said  Lord  George,  evading 
her  touch,   and   colouring    deeply,   "that 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


203 


those  who  cling  to  the  truth  and  support 
the  right  cause,  are  set  down  as  mad. 
Have  you  the  heart  to  say  this  of  your  own 
son,  unnatural  mother !" 

"I  am  astonished  at  you!"  said  Gash- 
ford,  with  a  kind  of  meek  severity.  "  This 
is  a  very  sad  picture  of  female  depravity." 

"  lie  has  surely  no  appearance,"  said 
Lord  George,  glancing  at  Barnaby,  and 
whispering  in  iiis  secretary's  ear,  "of  being 
deranged  !  And  even  if  he  had,  we  must 
not  construe  any  trifling  peculiarity  into 
madness.  Which  of  us  "  —  and  here  he 
turned  red  again — "  would  be  safe,  if  that 
were  made  the  law  !" 

"Not  one,"  replied  the  secretary;  "in 
that  case,  the  greater  the  zeal,  the  truth, 
and  talent ;  the  more  direct  the  call  from 
above ;  the  clearer  would  be  the  madness. 
With  regard  to  this  young  man,  my  Lord," 
he  added,  with  a  lip  that  slightly  curled  as 
he  looked  at  Barnaby,  who  stood  twirling 
his  hat,  and  stealthily  beckoning  them  to 
come  away,  "  he  is  as  sensible  and  self- 
possessed  as  any  one  I  ever  saw." 

"  And  you  desire  to  make  one  of  this 
great  body !"  said  Lord  George,  addressing 
him ;  "  and  intended  to  make  one,  did 
you  V 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Barnaby,  with  spark- 
ling eyes.  "  To  be  sure  I  did !  I  told  her 
60  myself" 

"  I  see,"  replied  Lord  George,  with  a 
reproachful  glance  at  the  unhappy  mother  : 
"  I  thought  so.  Follow  me  and  this  gen- 
tleman, and  you  shall  have  your  wish." 

Barnaby  kissed  his  mother  tenderly  on 
the  cheek,  and,  bidding  her  be  of  good 
cheer,  for  their  fortunes  were  both  made 
now,  did  as  he  was  desired.  She,  poor 
woman,  followed  too — with  how  much  fear 
and  grief  it  would  be  hard  to  tell. 

They  passed  quickly  through  the  Bridge- 
road,  where  the  shops  were  all  shut  up 
(for  the  passage  of  the  great  crowd  and  the 
expectation  of  their  return  had  alarmed  the 
tradesmen  for  their  goods  and  windows), 
and  where,  in  the  upper  stories,  all  the  in- 
habitants were  congregated,  looking  down 
into  the  street  below,  with  faces  variously 
expressive  of  alarm,  of  interest,  expect- 
ancy, and  indignatioK  Some  of  these  ap- 
plauded, and  some  hissed;  but,  regardless 
of  these  interruptions  —  for  the  noise  of  a 
vast  congregation  of  people  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  roaring 
of  a  sea —  Lord  George  Gordon  quickened 
his  pace,  and  presently  arrived  before  St. 
George's  Fields. 

They  were  really  fields  at  that  time,  and 
of  considerable  extent.  Here  an  immense 
lauiltitude  was  collected,  bearing  flags  of 


various  kinds  and  sizes,  but  all  of  the  same 
colour — blue,  like  the  cockades — some  sec- 
tions marching  to  and  fro  in  military  airay, 
and  others  drawn  up  in  circles,  squares,  and 
lines.  A  large  portion,  both  of  the  bodies 
which  paraded  the  ground,  and  of  tliose 
which  remained  stationary,  were  occupied 
in  singing  hymns  or  psalms.  With  whom- 
soever this  originated,  it  was  well  done; 
for  the  sound  of  so  many  thousand  voices 
in  the  air  must  have  stirred  the  heart  of  any 
man  within  him,  and  could  not  fail  to  have 
a  wonderful  effect  upon  enthusiasts,  how- 
ever mistaken. 

Scouts  bad  been  posted  in  advance  of  the 
great  body,  to  give  notice  of  their  leader's 
coming.  These  falling  back,  the  word  was 
quickly  passed  through  the  whole  host,  and 
for  a  short  interval  there  ensued  a  profound 
and  death-like  silence,  during  which  the 
mass  was  so  still  and  quiet,  that  the  flutter- 
ing of  a  banner  caught  the  eye,  and  be- 
came a  circumstance  of  note.  Then  they 
burst  into  a  tremendous  shout,  into  another, 
and  another;  and  the  air  seemed  rent  and 
shaken,  as  if  by  the  discharge  of  cannon. 

"Gashford!"  cried  Lord  George,  press- 
ing his  secretary's  arm  tight  within  his  own, 
and  speaking  with  as  much  emotion  in  his 
voice,  as  in  his  altered  face,  "I  am  called 
indeed,  now.  I  feel  and  know  it.  I  am 
the  leader  of  a  host.  If  they  summoned 
me  at  this  moment  with  one  voice  to  lead 
them  on  to  death,  I  'd  do  it — Yes,  and  fall 
first  myself!" 

"  It  is  a  proud  sight,"  said  the  secretary. 
"  It  is  a  noble  day  for  England,  and  for  the 
great  cause  throughout  the  world.  Such 
homage,  my  Lord,  as  I,  an  humble  but  de- 
voted man,  can  render " 

"What  are  you  doing!"  cried  his  mas- 
ter, catching  him  by  both  hands;  for  he  had 
made  a  show  of  kneeling  at  his  feet;  "Do 
not  unfit  me,  dear  Gashford,  for  the  solemn 
duty  of  this  glorious  day — "  the  tears  stood 
in  the  eyes  of  the  poor  gentleman  as  he 
said  the  words. — "Let  us  go  among  them; 
we  have  to  find  a  place  in  some  division  for 
this  new  recruit — give  me  your  hand." 

Gashford  slid  his  cold  insidious  palm  into 
his  master's  grasp,  and  so,  hand  in  hand, 
and  followed  still  by  Barnaby  and  by  his 
mother  too,  they  mingled  with  the  con- 
course. 

They  had  by  this  time  taken  to  their 
singing  again,  and  as  their  leader  passed 
between  their  ranks,  they  raised  their  voices 
to  their  utmost.  Many  of  those  who  were 
banded  together  to  support  the  religion  of 
their  country,  even  unto  death,  had  never 
heard  a  hymn  or  psalm  in  all  their  lives. 
But  these  fellows  having  for  the  most  part 


204 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


strong  Iuns:s,  and  being  naturally  fond  of 
singing,  chanted  any  ribaldry  or  nonsense 
that  occurred  to  them,  feeling  pretty  cer- 
tain that  it  would  not  be  detected  in  the 
general  chorus,  and  not  caring  very  much 
if  it  were.  Many  of  these  voluntaries  were 
sung  under  the  very  nose  of  Lord  George 
Gordon,  who,  quite  unconscious  of  their  bur- 
den, passed  on  with  his  usual  stiff  and  so- 
lemn deportment,  very  much  edified  and 
delighted  by  t^o  pious  conduct  of  his  fol- 
lowers. 

So  they  went  on  and  on,  up  this  line, 
down  that,  round  the  exterior  of  this  circle, 
and  on  every  side  of  that  hollow  square ; 
and  still  there  were  lines,  and  squares,  and 
circles  out  of  number  to  review.  The  day 
being  now  intensely  hot,  and  the  sun  strik- 
ing down  his  fiercest  rays  upon  the  field, 
those  who  carried  heavy  banners  began  to 
grow  faint  and  weary;  most  of  the  number 
assembled  were  fain  to  pull  off  their  neck- 
cloths, and  throw  their  coats  and  waistcoats 
open ;  and  some,  towards  the  centre,  quite 
overpowered  by  the  excessive  heat,  which 
was  of  course  rendered  more  unendurable 
by  the  multitude  around  them,  lay  down 
upon  the  grass,  and  offered  all  they  had 
about  them  for  a  drink  of  water.  Still,  no 
man  left  the  ground,  not  even  of  these  who 
were  so  distressed;  still  Lord  George, 
streaming  from  every  pore,  went  on  with 
Gashford  ;  and  still  Barnaby  and  his  mother 
followed  close  behind  them. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  top  of  a  long 
line  of  some  eight  hundred  men  in  single 
file,  and  Lord  George  had  turned  his  head 
to  look  back,  when  a  loud  cry  of  recogni- 
tion— in  that  peculiar  and  half-stifled  tone 
which  a  voice  has,  when  it  is  raised  in  the 
open  air  and  in  the  midst  of  a  great  con- 
course of  persons — was  heard,  and  a  man 
stepped  with  a  shout  of  laughtpr  from  the 
rank,  and  smote  Barnaby  on  the  shoulders 
with  his  heavy  hand. 

"How  now!"  he  cried.  "Barnaby 
Rudge  !  Why,  where  have  you  been  hiding 
for  these  hundred  years  !" 

Barnaby  had  been  thinking  within  him- 
self that  the  smell  of  the   trodden  grass 


brought  back  his  old  days  at  cricket,  when 
he  was  a  young  boy  and  played  on  Chig- 
well  Green.  Confused  by  this  sudden  and 
boisterous  address,  he  stared  in  a  bewilder- 
ed manner  at  the  man,  and  could  scarcely 
say  "  What !  Hugh  !" 

"Hugh!"  echoed  the  other;  "ay,  Hugh 
— Maypole  Hugh  !  You  remember  my  dog  ] 
He's  alive  now,  and  will  know  you,  I  war- 
rant. What,  you  wear  the  colour,  do  you? 
Well  done !  Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"  You  know  this  young  man,  I  see,"  said 
Lord  George. 

"  Know  him,  my  Lord  !  as  well  as  I  know 
my  own  right  hand.  My  captain  knows 
him.     We  all  know  him." 

"  Will  you  take  him  into  your  division?" 

"It  hasn't  in  it  a  better,  nor  a  nimbler, 
nor  a  more  active  man,  than  Barnaby 
Rudge,"  said  Hugh.  "  Show  me  the  man 
who  says  it  has.  Fall  in,  Barnaby.  He 
shall  march,  my  Lord,  between  me  and 
Dennis;  and  he  shall  carry,"  he  added,  tak- 
ing a  flag  from  the  hand  of  a  tired  man  who 
tendered  it,  "  the  gayest  silken  streamer  in 
this  valiant  army." 

"In  the  name  of  God,  no!"  shrieked  the 
widow,  darting  forward.  "  Barnaby — my 
Lord — see — he'll  come  back— Barnaby — 
Barnaby !" 

"  Women  in  the  field !"  cried  Hugh, 
stepping  between  them,  and  holding  her  off. 
"Holloa!  My  captain  there  !" 

"  What 's  the  matter  here  ?"  cried  Simon 
Tappertit,  bustling  up  in  a  great  heat.  "  Do 
you  call  this  order!" 

"Nothing  like  it,  captain,"  answered 
Hugh,  still  holding  her  back  with  his  out- 
stretched hand.  "  It 's  against  all  orders. 
Ladies  are  carrying  off  our  gallant  soldiers 
from  their  duty.  The  word  of  command, 
captain  !  They  're  filing  off  the  ground. 
Quick !" 

"Close!"  cried  Simon,  with  the  whole 
power  of  his  lungs.     "  Fonn  !  March !" 

She  was  thrown  to  the  ground  ;  the  whole 
field  was  in  motion;  Barnaby  was  whirled 
away  into  the  heart  of  a  dense  mass  of  men, 
and  she  saw  him  no  more. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


205 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-NINTH. 


The  mob  had  been  divided  from  its  first 
assemblaifp  into  four  divisions;  the  London, 
the  Westminster,  the  Southvvarli,  and  the 
Scotch.  Each  of  these  divisions  bein^  sub- 
divided into  various  bodies,  and  these  bodies 
bein<>- drawn  up  in  various  forms  and  figures, 
the  j!feneral  arrangement  was,  except  to  the 
few  chiefs  and  leaders,  as  unintelligible  as 
the  plan  of  a  great  battle  to  the  meanest 
soldier  in  the  field.  It  was  not  without  its 
method,  however;  for,  in  a  very  short  space 
of  time  after  being  put  in  motion,  the  crowd 
had  resolved  itself  into  three  great  parties, 
and  were  prepared,  as  had  been  arranged, 
to  cross  the  river  by  different  bridges,  and 
make  for  the  House  of  Commons  in  sepa- 
rate detachments. 

At  the  head  of  that  division  which  had 
Westminster  Bridge  for  its  approach  to  the 
Ecene  of  action.  Lord  George  Gordon  took 
his  po?t;  with  Gashford  at  his  right  hand, 
and  sundry  ruffians,  of  most  unpromising 
appearance,  forming  a  kind  of  staff'  about 
him.  The  conduct  of  a  second  party, 
whose  route  lay  by  Blackfriars,  was  entrust- 
ed to  a  committee  of  management,  includ- 
ing perhaps  a  dozen  men  :  while  the  third, 
whicii  was  to  go  by  London  Bridge,  and 
through  the  main  streets,  in  order  that  tliuir 
numbers  and  their  serious  intentions  miefht 
be  the  better  known  and  appreciated  by  the 
citizens,  were  led  by  Simon  Tappertit,  (as- 
sisted by  a  few  subalterns,  selected  from 
the  Brotherhood  of  United  Bull-Dogs),  Den- 
nis the  hangman,  Hugh,  and  some  others. 

The  word  of  command  being  given,  each 
of  these  great  bodies  took  the  road  assign- 
ed to  it,  and  departed  on  its  way,  in  perfect 
order  and  profound  silence.  That  which 
went  through  the  City  greatly  exceeded 
the  others  in  number,  and  was  of  such  pro- 
digious extent  that  when  the  rear  began  to 
move,  the  front  was  nearly  four  miles  in 
advance,  notwithstanding  that  the  men 
marched  three  abreast  and  followed  very 
close  upon  each  other. 

At  the  head  of  this  party,  in  the  place 
where  Hugh,  in  the  madness  of  his  hu- 
mour, had  stationed  him,  and  walking  be- 
tween that  dangerous  companion  and  the 
hangman,  went  Barnaby ;  as  many  a  man 
among  the  thousands  who  looked  on  that 
day  afterwards  remembered  well.  Forget- 
ful of  all  other  things  in  the  ecstasy  of  the 
moment,  his  face  flushed  and  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  delight,  heedless  of  the 
weight  of  the  great  banner  he  carried,  and 
mindful  onlv  of  its  flashing  in  the  sun  and 


rustlings  in  the  summer  breeze,  on  ho 
went,  proud,  happy,  elated  past  all  telling: 
— the  only  light-iiearted,  undesigning  crea- 
ture, in  the  whole  assembly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this?"  asked 
Hugh,  as  they  passed  through  the  crowded 
streets,  and  looked  up  at  the  windows 
which  were  thronged  with  spectators, 
"  They  have  all  turned  out  to  see  our  flags 
and  streamers'!  Eh,  Barnaby  ]  Why,  Bar- 
naby's  the  greatest  man  of  all  the  pack ! 
His  flag  's  the  largest  of  the  lot,  the  bright- 
est too.  There  's  nothing  in  the  show,  like 
Barnaby.  All  eyes  are  turned  on  him. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"Don't  make  that  din,  brother,"  growl- 
ed the  hangman,  glancing  with  no  very 
approving  eyes  at  Barnaby  as  he  spoke : 
"  1  hope  he  don't  think  there  's  notiiing  to 
be  done,  but  carrying  that  there  piece  of 
blue  rag,  like  a  boy  at  a  breaking-up. 
You  're  ready  for  action  I  hope,  eh  ?  You, 
I  mean,"  he  added,  nudging  Barnaby  rough- 
ly with  his  elbow.  "  What  are  you  staring 
at?  Why  don't  you  speak?" 

Barnaby  had  been  gazing  at  his  flag,  and 
looked  vacantly  from  his  questioner  to 
Hugh. 

"He  don't  understand  your  way,"  said 
the  latter.  "  Here,  1  '11  explain  it  to  him. 
Barnaby,  old  boy,  attend  to  me." 

"I'll  attend,"  said  Barnaby,  looking 
anxiously  round  ;  "  but  I  wish  I  could  see 
her  somewhere." 

"See  who?"  demanded  Dennis  in  a 
gruff"  tone.  "  You  an't  in  love  I  hope,  bro- 
ther? That  an't  the  sort  of  thing  for  us, 
you  know.  We  mustn't  have  no  love 
here." 

"  She  would  be  proud,  indeed,  to  see  me 
now,  eh,  Hugh  ?"  said  Barnaby.  "  Wouldn't 
it  make  her  glad  to  see  me  at  the  head  of 
this  large  show  1  She'd  cry  with  joy,  I 
know  she  would.  Where  cr/n  she  be?  She 
never  sees  me  at  my  best,  and  what  do  1 
care  to  be  gay  and  fine  if  she  's  not  by  ?" 

"  Why,  what  palaver  's  this?"  asked  Mr 
Dennis  with  supreme  disdain.  "We  an't 
got  no  sentimental  member?  among  us,  I 
hope." 

"  Don't  be  unea.sy,  brother,"  cried  Hugh, 
"  he's  only  talking  of  his  mother." 

"  Of  his  what?"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  with  a 
strong  oath. 

"  His  mother." 

"  And  have  I  combined  myself  with  this 
here  section,  and  turned  out  on  this  here 
memorable  day,  to  hear  men  trjk  about 


206 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


their  mothers  !"  growled  M/.  Dennis,  with 
extreme  disorust.  "  The  notion  of  a  man's 
sweetheart's  bad  enough,  but  a  man's  mo- 
ther!— '"  and  iiere  his  disgust  was  so  ex- 
treme that  he  spat  upon  the  ground,  and 
could  say  no  more. 

"Eirnaby's  right,"  cried  Hugh,  with  a 
crrin,  "  and  I  say  it.  Lookee,  bold  lad.  If 
she's  not  here  to  see,  it's  because  I've 
provided  for  her,  and  sent  half  a  dozen  gen- 
tlemen, every  one  of  'em  with  a  blue  flag 
(but  not  half  as  fine  as  yours),  to  take  her, 
in  state,  to  a  grand  house  all  hung  round 
with  gold  and  silver  banners,  and  every- 
thing else  you  please,  where  she'll  wait 
till  you  come,  and  want  for  nothing." 

"  Ay  !"  said  Barnaby,  his  face  beaming 
with  delight:  "  have  you,  indeed  ]  That's 
a  good  hearing.  That's  fine!  Kind 
Hugh  !" 

"  But  nothing  to  what  will  come,  bless 
vou,"  retorted  Hugh,  with  a  wink  at  Den- 
nis, who  regarded  his  new  companion  in 
arms  with  great  astonishment. 

"No,  indeed  !"  cried  Barnaby. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  Hugh.  "  Money, 
cocked  hats  and  feathers,  red  coats  and  gold 
lace;  all  the  fine  things  there  are,  ever 
were,  or  will  be ;  will  belong  to  us  if  we 
are  true  to  that  noble  gentleman — the  best 
man  in  the  world,  carry  our  flags  for  a  few 
days,  and  keep  them  safe.  That 's  all  we've 
got  to  do." 

"  Is  that  all]"  cried  Barnaby,  with  glis- 
tening eyes,  as  he  clutched  his  pole  the 
tighter;  "  I  warrant  you  I  keep  this  one 
safe,  then.  You  have  put  it  in  good  hands. 
You  know  me,  Hugh,  Nobody  shall  wrest 
this  flag  away." 

"Well  said!"  cried  Hugh.  "Ha,  ha! 
Nobly  said  !  That's  the  old  stout  Barnaby, 
that  I  have  climbed  and  leaped  with  many 
and  many  s  day — I  knew  I  was  not  mistaken 
in  Barnaby. — Don't  you  see,  man,"  he  added 
in  a  whisper,  as  he  slipped  to  the  other  side 
of  Dennis,  "thai  the  lad's  a  natural,  and  can 
be  got  to  do  anything,  if  you  take  him  the 
right  way.  Lotting  alone  the  fun  he  is, 
he's  worth  a  dozen  men,  in  earnest,  as 
vou'd  find,  if  you  tried  a  fall  with  him. 
Leave  him  to  me.  You  shall  soon  see 
whether  he  's  of  use  or  not." 
.  Mr.  Dennis  received  these  explanatory 
remarks  with  many  nods  and  winks,  and 
softened  his  behaviour  towards  Barnaby 
from  that  moment.  Hugh,  laying  his  fin- 
ger on  his  nose,  stepppd  back  into  his  former 
place  and  they  proceeded  in  silence. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  when  the  three  great  parties 
met  af  Westminster,  and,  uniting  into  one 
huge  mass,  raised  a  tremendous  shout. 
This  was  not  only  done  in  token  of  their 


presence,  but  as  a  signal  to  those  on  whom 
the  task  devolved,  that  it  was  time  to  take 
possession  of  the  lobbies  of  both  Houses, 
and  of  the  various  avenues  of  approach, 
and  of  the  gallery  stairs.  To  the  last- 
named  place,  Hugh  and  Dennis,  still  with 
their  pupil  between  them,  rushed  straight- 
way ;  Barnaby  having  given  his  flag  into 
the  hands  of  one  of  their  own  party,  who 
kept  them  at  the  outer  door.  Their  follow- 
ers pressing  on  behind,  they  were  borne  as 
on  a  great  wave  to  the  very  doors  of  the 
gallery,  whence  it  was  impossible  to  retreat, 
even  if  they  had  been  so  inclined',  by  reason 
of  the  throng  which  choked  up  the  passages. 
It  is  a  familiar  expression  in  describing  a 
great  crowd,  that  a  person  might  have 
walked  upon  the  people's  heads.  In  this 
case  it  was  actually  done ;  for  a  boy  who 
had  by  some  means  got  among  the  con- 
course, and  was  in  imminent  danger  of 
suflocation,  climbed  to  the  shoulders  of  a 
man  beside  him,  and  walked  upon  the  peo- 
ple's hats  and  heads  into  the  open  street ; 
traversing  in  his  passage  the  whole  length 
of  two  staircases  and  a  long  gallery.  Nor 
was  the  swarm  without  less  dense;  for  a 
basket  which  had  been  tossed  into  the 
crowd,  was  jerked  from  head  to  head,  and 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  went  spinning 
and  whirling  on  above  them,  until  it  was 
lost  to  view,  without  ever  once  falling  in 
among  them  or  coming  near  the  ground. 

Through  this  vast  throng,  sprinkled 
doubtless  here  and  there  with  honest  zealots, 
but  composed  for  the  most  part  of  the  \ery 
scum  and  refuse  of  London,  whose  growth 
was  fostered  by  bad  criminal  laws,  bad 
prison  regulations,  and  the  worst  conceiv- 
able police, — such  of  the  members  of  both 
Houses  of  Parliament  as  had  not  taken  the 
precaution  to  be  already  at  their  posts, 
were  compelled  to  fight  and  force  their 
way.  Their  carriages  were  stopped  and 
broken ;  the  wheels  wrenched  off;  the 
glasses  shivered  to  atoms  :  the  panels  beaten 
in;  drivers,  footmen,  and  masters,  pulled 
from  their  seats  and  rolled  in  tho  mud. 
Lords,  commoners,  and  reverend  Bishops, 
with  little  distinction  of  person  or  party, 
were  kicked  and  pinched  and  hustled ; 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  through  various 
stages  of  ill-usage  ;  and  sent  to  their  fellow 
senators  at  last  with  their  clothes  hanging 
in  ribands  about  them,  their  bagwigs  torn 
off,  themselves  speechless  and  breathless, 
and  their  persons  covered  with  the  powaer 
which  had  been  cuffed  and  beat'm  out  of 
their  hair.  One  Lord  was  so  long  in  the 
hands  of  the  populace,  that  the  Peers  as  a 
body  resolved  to  sally  forth  and  rescue  him, 
and  were  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  when  he 
happily  appeared  among  them  covered  with 


'^ 


(ML,  a 


':\ 


^A 


(d.  .5^^ 


'  ^Xy./  'r//^//'//  a/ ///e    'Jc  7</r7/  ryl/u/o 


BARNA13Y    RUDGE. 


207 


dirt  and  bruises,  and  hardly  to  be  recopr- 
nized  by  those  who  knew  hini  best.  Tlie 
noise  and  uproar  were  on  the  increase  every 
moment.  The  air  was  filled  with  execra- 
tions, hoots,  and  howlinffs.  The  mob  ra<red 
and  roared,  like  a  mad  monster  as  it  was, 
unceasinirly,  and  each  new  outrage  served 
to  swell  its  fury. 

Within  doors,  matters  were  even  yet 
more  threatening.  Lord  George — preceded 
by  a  man  who  carried  the  immense  petition 
on  a  porter's  knot  through  the  lobby  to  the 
door  of  the  House  of  Commons,  where  it 
was  received  by  two  officers  ot"  the  house, 
who  rolled  it  up  to  the  table  ready  for  pre- 
sentation —  had  taken  his  seat  at  an  early 
hour,  before  the  Speaker  went  to  prayers. 
His  followers  pouring  in  at  the  same  time, 
the  lobby  and  all  the  avenues  were  imme- 
diately filled,  as  we  have  seen :  thus  the 
members  were  not  only  attacked  in  their 
passage  through  the  streets,  but  were  set 
upon  within  the  very  walls  of  Parliament; 
while  the  tumult,  both  within  and  without, 
was  so  great,  that  those  who  attempted  to 
speak  could  scarcely  hear  their  own  voices ; 
far  less  consult  upon  the  course  it  would 
be  wise  to  take  in  such  extremity,  or  ani- 
mate each  other  to  dignified  and  firm  re- 
sistance. So  sure  as  any  member,  just 
arrived,  with  dress  disordered  and  dishevel- 
led hair,  came  struggling  through  the  crowd 
in  the  lobby,  it  yelled  and  screamed  in  tri- 
umph; and  when  the  door  of  the  house, 
paitially  and  cautiously  opened  by  those 
within  "for  his  admission,  gave  them  a  mo- 
inontary  glimpse  of  the  interior,  they  grew 
more  wild  and  savage,  like  beasts  at  the 
sight  of  prey,  and  made  a  rush  against  the 
portal  which  strained  its  locks  and  bolts  in 
their  staples,  and  shook  the  very  beams. 

The  strangers'  gallery,  which  was  im- 
mediately above  the  door  of  the  house,  had 
been  ordered  to  be  closed  on  the  first  ru- 
mour of  disturbance,  and  was  empty ;  save 
that  now  and  then  Ixird  George  took  his 
seat  there,  for  the  convenience  of  coming 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs  which  led  to  it, 
and  repeating  to  the  people  what  had  pass- 
ed within.  It  was  on  these  stairs  that  Bar- 
naby,  Hugh,  and  Dennis  were  posted. 
There  were  two  flights,  short,  steep,  and 
narrow,  running  parallel  to  each  other,  and 
leading  to  two  little  doors  communicating 
with  a  low  passage  which  opened  on  the 
gallery.  Between  them  was  a  kind  of  well, 
or  unglazed  skylight,  for  the  admission  of 
light  and  air  into  the  lobby,  which  might 
be  some  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  below. 

Upon  one  of  these  little  staircases — not 
that  at  the  head  of  which  Lord  George  ap- 
peared from  time  to  time,  but  the  other — 
Gashford  stood  with  his  elbow  on  the  ban- 


istnr,  and  his  cheek  resting  on  his  hand, 
with  his  usual  crafty  aspect.  Whenever 
he  varied  this  attitude  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree— so  much  as  by  the  gentlest  motion 
of  his  arm — the  uproar  was  certain  to  in- 
crease, not  merely  there,  but  in  the  lobby 
below;  from  which  place,  no  doubt,  some 
man  who  acted  as  fiiglernan  to  the  rest,  was 
constantly  looking  up  and  watcliing  him. 

"  Order  !"  cried  Hugh,  in  a  voice  which 
made  itself  heard  even  above  the  roar  and 
tumult,  as  Lord  George  appeared  at  the  top 
of  the  staircase.  "  News !  News  from  my 
Lord !" 

The  noise  continued  notwithstanding  his 
appearance,  until  Gashford  looked  round. 
There  was  silence  inmiediately  —  even 
among  the  people  in  the  passages  without, 
and  on  the  other  staircases,  who  could  nei- 
ther see  ncr  hear,  but  to  whom,  notwith- 
standing, the  signal  was  conveyed  with  mar- 
vellous rapidity. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lord  George,  who 
was  very  pale  and  agitated,  "  we  must  be 
firm.  They  talk  of  delays,  but  we  must 
have  no  delays.  They  talk  of  taking  your 
petition  into  consideration  next  Tuesday, 
but  we  must  have  it  considered  now.  Pre- 
sent appearances  look  bad  for  our  success, 
but  we  must  succeed  and  will  1" 

"  We  must  succeed  and  will !"  echoed 
the  crowd.  And  so  among  their  shouts  and 
cheers  and  other  cries,  he  bowed  to  them 
and  retired,  and  presently  came  back  again. 
There  was  another  gesture  from  Gashford, 
and  a  dead  silence  directly. 

"1  am  afraid,"  he  said,  this  time,  "that 
we  have  little  reason,  gentlemen,  to  hope 
for  any  redress  from  the  proceedings  of  par- 
liament. But  we  must  redress  our  own 
grievances,  we  must  meet  again,  we  must 
put  our  trust  in  Providence,  and  it  will 
bless  our  endeavours." 

This  speech  being  a  little  more  temper- 
ate than  the  last,  was  not  so  favourably  re- 
ceived. When  the  noise  and  exasperation 
were  at  their  heiirht,  he  came  back  once 
more,  and  told  them  that  the  alarm  had 
gone  forth  for  many  miles  round  ;  that  when 
the  King  heard  of  their  assembling  together 
in  that  great  body,  he  had  no  doubt  His 
Majesty  would  send  down  private  orders  to 
have  their  wishes  complied  with ;  and — • 
with  the  manner  of  his  speech  as  childish, 
irresolute,  and  uncertain  as  his  matter  — 
was  proceeding  further,  when  two  gentle- 
men suddenly  appeared  at  the  door  where 
he  stood,  and  pressing  past  him  and  coming 
a  step  or  two  lower  down  upon  the  stairs, 
confronted  the  people. 

The  boldness  of  this  action  quite  took 
them  by  surprise.  They  were  not  the  less 
disconcerted,  when  one  of  the  gentlemen. 


208 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


turning  to  Lord  George,  spoke  thus — in  a 
loud  voice  thnt  they  might  hear  him  well, 
but  quite  coolly  and  collectedly. 

"  You  may  lell  these  people,  if  you  please, 
my  liOrd,  that  I  am  General  Conway  of 
whom  they  have  heard;  and  that  I  oppose 
this  petition,  and  all  their  proceedings,  and 
yours.  I  am  a  soldier,  you  may  tell  them ; 
and  I  will  protect  the  freedom  of  this  place 
with  my  sword.  You  see,  my  Lord,  that 
the  members  of  this  house  are  all  in  anus 
to-day;  you  know  that  the  entrance  to  it  is 
a  narrow  one;  you  cannot  be  ignorant  that 
there  are  men  within  these  walls  who  are 
determined  to  defend  that  pass  to  the  last, 
and  before  whom  many  lives  must  fall  if 
your  adherents  persevere.  Have  a  care 
what  you  do." 

"  And  my  Lord  Georg-e,"  said  the  other 
gentlem.-n,  addressing  him  in  like  manner, 
"  I  desire  them  to  hear  this,  from  me — Col- 
onel Gordon — your  near  relation.  If  a  man 
ainong  this  crowd,  whose  uproar  strikes  us 
deaf,  crosses  the  threshold  of  the  House  of 


Commons,  I  swear  to  run  my  sword  that 
moment — not  into  his,  but  into  your  body  !" 

With  that,  they  stepped  back  again,  keep- 
ing their  faces  towards  the  crowd ;  took 
each  an  arm  of  the  misguided  nobleman; 
drew  him  into  tiie  passage,  and  shut  the 
door;  which  they  directly  locked  and  fast- 
ened on  the  inside. 

This  was  so  quickly  done,  and  the  de- 
meanour of  both  gentlemen — who  were  not 
young  men  either — was  so  gallant  and  re- 
solute, that  the  crowd  faltered  and  stared 
at  each  other  with  irresolute  and  timid 
looks.  Many  tried  to  turn  towards  the  door; 
some  of  the  faintest-hearted  cried  that  they 
had  best  go  back,  and  called  to  those  be- 
hind to  give  way;  and  the  panic  and  con- 
fusion were  increasing  rapidly,  when  Gash- 
ford  whispered  Iluffh. 

"  What  now  !"  Hugh  roared  aloud,  turn- 
ing towards  them.  "  VVhy  goback?  Where 
can  you  do  better  than  here,  boys !  One 
good  rush  against  these  doors  and  one  be- 
low at  the  same  time,  will  do  the  business. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


209 


Rush  on,  tlu-n  !  A-  to  the  door  below,  let 
those  Stan. I  iiuSc  vvn.)  are  afraid.  Let  those 
who  are  noi  afraid,  try  who  shall  be  the 
first  to  pass  it.  Here  goes.  Look  out  down 
there!" 

VVitliniit  the  delay  of  an  instant,  he 
tlirevv  liiinself  lieadlonor  over  the  banisters 
into  the  lobby  below.  He  had  hardly  touch- 
ed the  errouud  when  Barnaby  was  at  his 
side.  Tlie  chaplain's  assistant  and  some 
members  who  were  imploring  the  people  to 
retire,  immediately  withdrew;  and  then, 
with  a  great  shout,  both  crowds  threw  them- 
selves against  the  doors  pell-mell,  and  be- 
sieged the  House  in  earnest. 

At  that  moment,  when  a  second  onset 
must  have  brought  them  into  collision  with 
those  who  stood  on  the  defensive  within,  in 
which  case  great  loss  of  life  and  bloodshed 
would  inevitably  have  ensued, — the  hind- 
most portion  of  the  crowd  gave  way,  and 
the  rumour  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth 
that  a  messenger  had  been  despatched  by 
water  for  the  military,  who  were  forming 
in  the  street.  Fearful  of  sustaining  a  charge 
in  the  narrow  passages  in  which  they  were 
80  closely  wedged  together,  the  throng 
poured  out  as  impetuously  as  they  had  flock- 
ed in.  As  the  wiiole  stream  turned  at  once, 
Barnaby  and  Hugh  went  with  it:  and  so, 
fighting  and  struggling  and  trampling  on 
fallen  men  and  being  trampled  on  in  turn 
themselves,  they  and  the  whole  mass  float- 
ed by  degrees  into  the  open  street,  where 
a  large  detachment  of  the  Guards,  botii 
horse  and  foot,  came  hurrying  up;  clear- 
ing the  ground  before  them  so  rapidly  that 
the  people  seemed  to  melt  away  as  they 
advanced. 

The  word  of  command  to  halt  being 
given,  the  soldiers  formed  across  the  street; 
the  rioters,  breathless  and  exhausted  with 
their  late  exertions,  formed  likewise,  thougii 
in  a  very  irregular  and  disorderly  manner. 
The  commanding  officer  rode  hastily  into 
the  open  space  between  the  two  bodies,  ac- 
companied by  a  magistrate  and  an  officer 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  tor  whose  ac- 
commodation a  couple  of  troopers  had 
hastily  dismounted.  The  Riot  Act  was 
read,  but  not  a  man  stirred. 

In  the  first  rank  of  the  insurgents,  Bar- 
naby and  Hii<jh  stood  side  by  side.     Sonic- 
body  had  thrust  into  Barnaby's  hands  when 
lie  came  out  into  the  street,  his  precious  | 
flag;  which,  being  now  rolled  up  and  tied 
round  the  pole,  looked  like  a  giant  quarter- 
stsffas  he  grasped  it  firmly  and  stood  upon 
his  guard.     If  ever  man  believed  with  his  j 
whole  heart  and  soul  that  he  was  engaged 
•n  a  just  cause,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  I 
itand  by  his  leader  to  the  last,  poor  Barnaby 
believed    it   of  himself  and   Lord  George  ' 
Gordon.  i 


After  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  make 
himself  heard,  the  magistrate  gave  the 
word  and  the  Horse  Guards  came  riding  in 
among  the  crowd.  But  even  then  he  gal- 
loped iiere  and  there,  exhorting  the  people 
to  disperse;  and,  although  heavy  stones 
were  thrown  at  the  men,  and  some  were 
desperately  cut  and  bruised,  they  had  no 
orders  but  to  make  prisoners  of  such  of  the 
rioters  as  were  the  most  active,  and  to  drive 
the  people  back  with  the  flat  of  their 
sabres.  As  the  horses  came  in  among 
them,  the  throng  gave  way  at  many  points, 
and  the  Guards,  following  up  their  advan- 
tage, were  rapidly  clearing  the  ground, 
when  two  or  three  of  the  foremost,  who 
were  in  a  manner  cut  oft'  from  the  rest  by 
the  people  closing  round  them,  made 
straight  towards  Barnaby  and  Hugh,  who 
had  no  doubt  been  pointed  out  as  the  two 
men  who  dropped  into  the  lobby;  laying 
about  them  now  with  some  effect,  and  in- 
flicting on  the  more  turbulent  of  their  op- 
ponents, a  few  slight  flesh-wounds,  under 
the  influence  of  which  a  man  dropped 
senseless,  here  and  there,  into  the  arms  of 
his  fellows,  amid  much  groaning  and  con- 
fusion. 

At  the  sight  of  gashed  and  bloody  faces, 
seen  for  a  moment  m  the  crowd,  then  hid- 
den by  the  press  around  them,  Barnaby 
turned  pale  and  sick.  But  he  stood  his 
ground,  and  grasping  his  pole  more  firmly 
yet,  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  the  nearest 
soldier  —  nodding  his  head  meanwhile,  as 
Hugh,  with  a  scowling  visage,  whispered 
in  his  ear. 

The  soldier  came  spurring  on,  makmg 
his  horse  rear  as  the  people  pressed  about 
him,  cutting  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
would  have  grasped  his  rein  and  forced  his 
charger  buck,  and  waving  to  his  comrades 
to  follow  —  and  still  Barnaby,  witiiout  re- 
treating an  inch,  waited  lor  his  coming. 
Some  called  to  him  to  fly,  and  some  were 
in  the  veiy  act  of  closing  round  him,  to 
prevent  his  being  taken,  when  the  pole 
swept  the  air  above  the  people's  heads,  and 
the  man's  saddle  was  empty  in  an  instant. 
•  Then  he  and  Hugh  turned  and  fled;  the 
crowd  opening  to  let  them  pass,  and  closing 
up  again  so  quickly  that  there  was  no  clue 
to  the  course  they  had  taken.  Panting  tor 
breath,  hot,  dusty,  and  exhausted  with  fa- 
tigue, they  reached  the  river-side  in  safety, 
and  getting  into  a  boat  with  all  despatch 
were  soon  out  of  any  immediate  danger. 

As  they  glided  down  the  river,  they 
plainly  heard  the  people  cheering;  and 
siip()osing  they  might  have  tbrced  the  sol- 
diers to  retreat,  lay  upon  meir  oars  tor  a 
few  minutes,  uncertain  whether  to  return 
or  not.  But  the  crowd  passing  along  West- 
minster Bridge,  soon  assured  them  that  the 


210 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


populace  were  dispersino-;  and  Hugh  right- 
ly guessed  from  this,  that  they  had  cheered 
the  magistrate  for  oftering  to  dismiss  the 
military  on  condition  of  tiieir  immediate 
departure  to  their  several  homes;  and  that 
he  and  Baruiiby  were  better  where  they 
were.  He  advised,  therefore,  that  they 
should  proceed  to  Blackfriars,  and,  going 
ashore  at  Ihf  bridge,  make  the  best  of  their 
way  to  the  Boot;  where  there  was  not  only 
good  entertainment  and  safe  lodging,  but 
where  they  would  certainly  be  joined  by 
many  of  their  late  companions.  Barnaby 
assenting,  they  decided  on  this  course  of  ac- 
tion, and  pulled  for  Blackfriars  accordingly. 


'      They  landed  at  a  critical  time,  and  for- 
tunately for  themselves  at  the  right  mo- 
ment.    For,  coming  into  Fleet  Street,  they 
found  it  in  an  unusual  stir;  and  inquiring 
I  the  cause,  were  told  that  a  body  of  Horse 
'■  Guards   had  just   galloped  past,  and   that 
j  they  were   escorting  some   rioters    whom 
they  had  made  prisoners,  to  Newgate  for 
safety.     Not  at  all  ill-pleased   to  have  so 
narrowly  escaped  the  cavalcade,  they  lost 
no  more  time  in  asking  questions,  but  hur- 
ried to  the  Boot  with  as  much  speed   as 
Hugh  considered  it  prudent  to  make,  with- 
out appearing  singular  or  attracting  an  in- 
convenient share  of  public  notice. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTIETH. 


They  were  among  the  first  to  reach  the 
tavern,  but  they  had  not  been  there  many 
minutes,  when  several  groups  of  men  who 
had  formed  part  of  the  crowd,  came  strag- 
gling in.  Among  them  were  Simon  Tap- 
pertit  and  Mr.  Dennis;  both  of  whom,  but 
especially  the  latter,  greeted  Barnaby  with 
the  utmost  warmth,  and  paid  him  many 
compliments  on  the  prowess  he  had  shown. 

"  Which,"  said  Dennis,  with  an  oath,  as 
he  rested  his  bludgeon  in  a  corner  with  his 
hat  upon  it,  and  took  his  seat  at  the  same 
table  with  them,  "  it  does  me  good  to  think 
of.  There  was  a  opportunity  !  But  it  led 
to  nothing.  For  my  part,  I  don't  know 
what  would.  There  's  no  spirit  among  the 
people  in  these  here  times.  Bring  some- 
thing to  eat  and  drink  here.  I'm  disgust- 
ed with  humanity." 

"  On  what  account  V  asked  Mr.  Tapper- 
tit,  who  had  been  quenching  his  fiery  face 
in  a  half-gallon  can.  "Don't  you  consider 
this  a  good  beginning,  rnisterl" 

"Give  me  security  that  it  an't  an  end- 
ing," rejoined  the  hangman.  "  When  that 
soldier  went  down,  we  n)ight  have  made 
London  ours ;  bgt  no;  we  stand,  and  gape, 
and  look  on — the  justice  (I  wish  he  had  had 
a  bullet  in  each  eye,  as  he  would  have  had, 
if  we'd  gone  to  work  my  way)  says  'My 
lads,  if  yon  '11  give  me  your  word  to  dis- 
perse, I'll  order  off  the  military,' — our 
people  set  up  a  hurrah,  threw  up  the  game 
with  the  winning  cards  in  their  hands,  and 
etalk  awjiy  like  a  pack  of  tame  curs  as  they 
are.  Ah  !"  said  the  hangman,  in  a  tone  of 
deep  disgust,  "it  makes  me  blush  for  my 
feller  creeturs.  I  wish  I  had  been  born  a 
ox,  I  do  !" 

"  You  'd  have  been  quite  as  agreeable  a 
character  if  you  had  been,  I  think,"  return- 


ed Simon  Tappertit,  going  out  in  a  lofcy 
manner. 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  rejoined  the 
hangman,  calling  after  him;  "if  I  was  a 
horned  animal  at  the  present  moment,  with 
the  smallest  grain  of  sense,  I'd  toss  every 
man  in  this  company,  excepting  them  two," 
meaning  Hugh  and  Barnaby,  "for  his  man- 
ner of  conducting  himself  this  day." 

With  which  mournful  review  of  their 
proceedings,  Mr.  Dennis  sought  consolation 
m  cold  boiled  beef  and  beer;  but  without 
at  all  relaxing  the  grim  and  dissatisfied 
expression  of  his  face,  the  gloom  of  wiiith 
was  rather  deepened  than  dissipated  b^ 
their  grateful  influence. 

The  company  who  were  thus  libelled 
might  have  retaliated  by  strong  words,  if 
not  by  blows,  but  they  were  dispirited  and 
worn  out.  The  greater  part  of  them  had 
fasted  since  morning  ;  all  had  suffered  ex- 
tremely from  the  excessive  heat ;  and,  be- 
tween the  day's  shouting,  exertion,  and 
excitement,  many  had  quite  lost  their 
voices,  and  so  much  of  their  strength  that 
they  could  hardly  stand.  Then  they  were 
uncertain  what  to  do  next,  fearful  of  tli'.-^ 
consequences  of  what  they  had  done  a) 
ready,  and  sensible  that  after  all  they  had 
carried  no  point,  but  had  indeed  left  mat- 
ters worse  than  they  had  found  them.  Of 
those  who  had  coine  to  the  Boot,  many 
had  dropped  off  within  an  hour ;  such  of 
them  as  were  really  honest  and  sincere, 
never,  afler  the  morning's  experience,  to 
return,  or  to  hold  any  communication  with 
their  late  companions.  Others  remained 
but  to  refresh  themselves,  and  then  weiY 
home  desponding;  others  w-ho  had  thereto- 
fore been  regular  in  their  attendance, 
avoided  the  place  altogether.    The  hal& 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


211 


dozen  prisoners  whom  the  Guards  had 
taken,  were  ina<,niitied  by  report  into  half 
a  hnndred  at  least;  and  their  friends-,  being 
taint  and  sober,  so  slackened  in  their  ener- 
gy,  and  so  drooped  beneath  these  dispiritingf 
inrlucnces,  tliat  by  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  Dennis,  I'lugh,  and  Barnaby,  were 
left  alone.  Even  they  were  fast  asleep 
upon  the  benches,  when  Gashford's  entrance 
ronsed  tliern, 

"Oh!  You  are  here  thenl"  said  the 
secretary.     "  Dear  me  !" 

"  Why,  where  should  we  be,  Muster 
Gashford  !"  Dennis  rejoined,  as  he  rose  into 
a  sitting  posture. 

"Oh  nowhere,  nowhere,"  he  returned, 
with  excessive  mildness.  "  The  streets  are 
filled  with  blue  cockades.  T  rather  thought 
you  might  have  been  among  them.  I  am 
glad  you  are  not." 

"  You  have  orders  for  us,  master,  thenl" 
said  Hugh. 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  Not  I.  No  orders,  my 
good  fellow.  What  orders  should  I  have  ? 
You  are  not  in  my  service." 

"  Muster  Gashford,"  remonstrated  Den- 
nis, "  we  belong  to  the  cause,  don't  we  ?" 

"The  cause!"  repeated  the  secretary, 
looking  at  him  in  a  sort  of  abstraction. 
"  There  is  no  cause.     The  cause  is  lost." 

"  Lost !" 

"  Oh  yes.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose  ? 
The  petition  is  rejected  by  a  hundred  and 
ninety-two,  to  six.  It's  quite  final.  We 
might  have  spared  ourselves  some  trouble: 
that,  and  my  Lord's  vexation,  are  the  only 
circumstances  I  regret,  I  am  quite  satis- 
fied in  all  other  respects." 

As  he  said  this,  he  took  a  penknife  from 
his  pocket,  and  putting  his  hat  upon  his 
knee,  began  to  busy  himself  in  ripping  off 
the  blue  cockade  which  he  had  worn  all 
day ;  at  the  same  time  humming  a  psalm 
tune  which  had  been  very  popular  in  the 
morning,  and  dwelling  on  it  with  a  gentle 
regret. 

His  two  adherents  looked  at  each  other, 
and  at  him,  as  if  they  were  at  a  loss  how 
to  pursue  the  subject.  At  length  Hugh, 
after  some  elbowing  and  winking  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Dennis,  ventured  to  stay 
his  hand,  and  to  ask  him  why  he  meddled 
with  that  riband  in  his  hat. 

"  Because,"  said  the  secretary,  looking 
up  with  something  between  a  snarl  and  a 
Bmile,  "  bee  in?;,'  to  sit  still  and  wear  it,  or 
fall  asleep  and  wear  it,  or  run  away  and 
wear  it,  is  a  mockery.     That 's  all,  friend." 

"  What  would  you  have  us  do,  master]" 
cried  Hugh. 

"Nothing,"  returned  Gashford.  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders;  "nothing.  When  my 
Lord  was  reproached  and  threatened  for 
Btanding  by  you,  I,  as  a  prudent  man, 
would  have  had  you  do  nothing.     When 


the  soldiers  were  trampling  you  under  their 
horses'  feet,  I  would  have  had  you  do  no- 
thing. Wiien  one  of  them  was  struck 
down  by  a  daring  hand,  and  1  saw  confusion 
and  dismay  in  all  their  faces,  I  would  have 
had  you  do  nothing — ^just  what  you  did,  in 
short.  This  is  the  young  man  who  had  so 
little  prudence  and  so  much  boldness.  Ah 
I  am  sorry  for  him." 

"  Sorry,  master !"  cried  Hugh. 

"  Sorry,  Muster  Gashford !"  echoed  Den- 
nis. 

"  In  case  there  should  be  a  proclamation 
out  to-morrow,  offering  five  hundred  pounds, 
or  some  such  trifle,  for  his  apprehension  ; 
and  in  case  it  should  include  another  man 
who  dropped  into  the  lobby  from  the  stairs 
above,"  said  Gashford,  coldly;  "still,  do 
nothing." 

"P'ire  and  fury,  master!"  cried  Hugh, 
starting  up.  "  \Vhat  have  we  done,  that 
you  should  talk  to  us  like  this!" 

"Nothing,"  returned  Gashford,  with  a 
sneer.  "  If  you  are  cast  into  prison  ;  if 
the  young  man — "  here  he  looked  hard  at 
Barnaby's  attentive  face — "  is  dragged  from 
us  and  from  his  friends;  perhaps  from  pe^^ 
pie  whom  he  loves,  and  whom  his  death 
would  kill ;  is  thrown  into  jail,  brought  out 
and  hanged  before  their  eyes;  still,  do 
nothing.  You  '11  find  it  your  best  policy, 
I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Come  on  !"  cried  Hugh,  striding  t.> 
wards  the  door.  "Dennis  —  Barnaby  — 
come  on  !" 

"Where?  To  do  what?"  said  Gashford, 
slipping  past  him,  and  standing  with  hid 
back  against  it. 

"Anywhere!  Anything!"  cried  Hugh. 
"  Stand  aside,  master,  or  the  window  will 
serve  our  turn  as  well.     Let  us  out !" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  You  are  of  such — of  such 
an  impetuous  nature,"  said  Gashford,  cliang 
ing  his  manner  for  one  of  the  utmost  good 
fellowship  and  the  pleasantest  raillery, 
"you  are  such  an  excitable  creature  —  bu 
you  '11  drink  with  me  before  you  go?" 

"Oh,  yes — certainly,"  growled  Dennis 
drawing  his  sleeve  across  his  thirsty  lips. 
"No  malice,  brother.  Drink  with  Muster 
Gashford !" 

Hugh  wiped  his  heated  brow,  and  relax- 
ed into  a  smile.  The  artful  secretary  laugh- 
ed outright. 

"Some  liquor  here!  Be  quick,  or  he'll 
not  stop,  even  for  that.  He  is  a  man  of 
such  desperate  ardour!"  said  the  smooth 
secretary,  whom  Mr.  Dennis  corroborated 
with  sundry  nods  and  muttered  oaths  — 
"  Once  roused,  he  is  a  fellow  of  such  fierce 
detf^rmination  !" 

Hugh  poised  his  sturdy  arm  aloft,  ana 
clapping  Barnaby  on  the  back,  bade  him 
fear  nothing.  They  shook  hands  togethei 
—  poor  Barnaby  evidently  possessed  with 


212 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


the  idoa  that  ho  was  amon^  the  most  virtu- 
ous and  disinterested  heroes  in  the  world — 
and  Gashfbrd  laughed  again. 

"  I  hear,"  he  said  smoothly,  as  he  stood 
among  them  with  a  great  measure  of 
liquor  in  his  hand,  and  filled  their  glasses 
ds  quickly  and  as  often  as  they  chose,  "I 
hear — but  I  cannot  say  whether  it  be  true 
or  false — that  the  men  who  are  loitering  in 
the  streets  to-night,  are  half  disposed  to 
pull  down  a  Romish  chapel  or  two,  and  that 
they  only  want  leaders.  I  even  heard 
mention  of  those  in  Duke  Street,  Lincoln's- 
Inn  Fields,  and  in  Warwick  Street,  Golden 
k>quare;  but  common  report,  you  know  — 
You  are  not  going  1" 

—  "To  do  nothing,  master,  eh?"  cried 
Hugh.  "No  jails  and  halter  for  Barnaby 
and  me.  They  must  be  frightened  out  of 
that.  Leaders  are  wanted,  are  they  1  Now 
boys !" 

"A  most  impetuous  fellow!"  cried  the 
secretary.  "  Ha,  ha  !  A  courageous,  bois- 
terous, most  vehement  fellow !  A  man 
who — " 

There  was  no  need  to  finish  the  sen- 
tence, for  they  had  rushed  out  of  the  house, 
and  were  far  beyond  hearing.  He  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  laugh,  listened,  drew  on 
his  gloves,  and,  clasping  his  hands  behind 
him,  paced  the  deserted  room  for  a  long 
time,  then  bent  his  steps  towards  the  busy 
town,  and  walked  into  the  streets. 

They  were  filled  with  people,  for  the 
rumour  of  that  day's  proceedings  had  made 
a  great  noise.  Those  persons  who  did  not 
care  to  leave  home,  were  at  their  doors  or 
windows,  and  one  topic  of  discourse  pre- 
vailed on  every  side.  ISoine  reported  that 
the  riots  were  effectually  put  down;  others 
that  they  had  broken  out  again:  some  said 
that  Lord  George  Gordon  had  been  sent 
under  a  strong  guard  to  the  Tower ;  others 
that  an  attempt  had  been  made  upon  tlie 
King's  life,  that  the  soldiers  had  been  again 
called  out,  and  that  the  noise  of  musketry 
in  a  distant  part  of  the  town  had  been 
plainly  heard  within  an  hour.  As  it  grew 
darker,  these  stories  became  more  direful 
and  mysterious;  and  often,  when  some 
frightened  passenger  ran  pist  v/ith  tidings 
that  the  rioters  were  nut  f;ir  off,  and  were 
coming  up,  the  doors  were  shut  and  barred, 
lower  windows  made  secure,  and  as  much 
cOi.iternation  engendered,  as  if  the  city 
were  invaded  by  a  foreign  army. 

Gashford  walked  stealtiiily  about,  listen- 
ing to  all  he  heard,  and  difiiising  or  con- 
firming, whenever  he  had  an  opportunity, 
such  false  intelligence  as  suited  his  own 
purpose;  and,  br..-ily  occupied  in  this  way. 
tiirned  into  Holborn  for  the  twentieth  time, 
when  a  great  many  women  and  children 
r.-iinc  fivii  g  along  the  street — otlen  panting 


and  looking  back  —  and  the  confused  mur- 
mur of  numerous  voices  struck  upon  his 
ear.  Assured  by  these  tokens,  and  by  the 
red  light  which  began  to  flash  upon  the 
houses  on  either  side,  that  some  of  his 
friends  were  indeed  approaching,  he  begged 
a  moment's  shelter  at  a  door  which  opened 
as  he  passed,  and  running  with  some  other 
persons  to  an  upper  window,  looked  out 
upon  the  crowd. 

They  had  torches  among  them,  and  the 
chief  faces  were  distinctly  visible.  That 
they  had  been  engaged  in  the  destruction 
of  some  building  was  sufficiently  apparent, 
and  that  it  was  a  Catholic  place  of  worship 
was  evident  from  the  spoils  they  bore  as 
trophies,  which  were  easily  recognisable 
for  the  vestments  of  priests,  and  rich  frag- 
ments of  altar  furniture.  Covered  with 
soot,  and  dirt,  and  dust,  and  lime;  their 
garments  torn  to  rags;  their  hair  hanging 
wildly  about  them  ;  their  hands  and  faces 
jagged  and  bleeding  with  the  wounds  of 
rusty  nails;  Barnaby,  Hugh,  and  Dennis 
hurried  on  before  them  all,  like  hideous 
madmen.  After  them,  the  dense  throng 
came  fighting  on:  some  singing;  some 
shouting  in  triumph;  some  quarrelling 
among  themselves;  some  menacing  the 
spectators  as  they  passed  ;  some  with  great 
wooden  fragments,  on  which  they  spent 
their  rage  as  if  they  had  been  alive,  rend- 
ing them  limb  from  limb,  and  hurling  the 
scattered  morsels  high  into  the  air ;  some 
in  a  drunken  state,  unconscious  of  the 
hurts  they  had  received  from  falling  bricks, 
and  stones,  and  beams;  one  borne  upon  a 
shutter,  in  the  very  midst,  covered  with  a 
dincy  cloth,  a  senseless,  ghastly  heap. 
Thus  —  a  vision  of  coarse  faces,  with  here 
and  ttiere  a  blot  of  flaring,  smoky  light;  a 
dream  of  demon  heads  and  savage  eyes, 
and  sticks  and  iron  bars  uplifted  in  the  air, 
and  whirled  about;  a  bewildering  horror, 
in  which  so  much  was  seen,  and  yet  so  lit- 
tle, which  seemed  so  long  and  yet  so  short, 
in  which  there  were  so  many  phantoms,  not 
to  be  forgotten  all  through  life,  and  yet  so 
many  things  that  could  not  be  observed  in 
that  distracting  glimpse  ;— it  flitted  onward 
and  was  gone. 

As  it  passed  away  upon  its  work  of 
wrath  and  ruin,  a  piercing  scream  was- 
heard.  A  knot  of  persons  ran  towards  the 
spot ;  Gashford,  who  just  then  emerged  into 
the  street,  among  them.  He  was  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  little  concourse,  and  could 
not  see  or  hear  what  passed  within  ;  but 
one  who  had  a  better  place,  informed  him 
that  a  widow  woman  had  descried  her  son 
among  the  rioters. 

"  Is  that  all  ■?"  said  the  secretary,  turning 
i  his  face  homewards.  "  Well !  I  think  this 
1  looks  a  little  more  like  business!" 


BARNABY    RUUGE. 


213 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-FIRST. 


Promising  as  these  outrages  were  to  Gash- 
ford's  view,  and  much  like  business  as  they 
l(K)ked,  tlicy  extended  that  nis^ht  no  farther. 
The  soldiers  were  again  called  out,  again  they 
took  half-a-dozen  prisoners,  and  a<iain  the 
crowd  disp(.>rsed  alter  a  short  and  bloodless 
scuffle.  Hot  and  drunken  though  they  were, 
they  had  not  yet  broken  all  bounds  and  set  all 
law  and  goverimient  at  defiance.  Something 
of  their  iiabitual  deference  to  the  authority 
erected  by  society  tor  its  own  preservation  yet 
remained  among  them,  and  had  its  majesty 
been  vindicated  in  time,  the  secretary  would 
have  had  to  digest  a  bitter  disappointment. 

By  midnight,  the  streets  were  clear  and 
quiet,  and,  save  that  there  stood  in  two  parts 
of  the  town,  a  heap  of  nodding  walls  and  pile 
of  rubbish,  where  there  had  been  at  sunset  a 
rich  and  handsome  building,  everything  wore 
its  usual  aspect.  Even  the  Catholic  gentry 
and  tradesmen,  of  whom  there  were  many, 
resident  in  different  parts  of  the  City  and  its 
suburbs  had  no  fear  for  their  lives  or  proper- 
tv,  and  but  little  indignation  for  the  wrong 
tiiey  had  already  sustained  in  the  plunder  and 
destruction  of  their  temples  of  worship.  An 
honest  confidence  in  the  government  under 
whose  protection  they  hcd  lived  for  many 
years,  and  a  well-founded  reliance  on  the  good 
feeling  and  rinjlit  thinking  of  the  great  mass 
of  the  community,  with  whom,  notwithstand- 
ing their  religious  differences,  they  were  eve- 
ry day  in  habits  of  confidential,  affectionate, 
and  friendly  intercourse,  re-assured  them, 
even  under  the  excesses  that  had  been  com- 
mitted ;  and  convinced  them  that  they  who 
were  Protestants  in  anytiiing  but  the  name, 
were  no  more  to  be  considered  as  abettors  of 
these  disgraceful  occurrences,  than  they  them- 
Eelves  were  chargeable  with  the  uses  of  the 
block,  the  rack,  the  gibbet,  and  the  stake,  in 
cruel  Mary's  reign. 

The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  one,  when 
Gabriel  Varden,  with  his  lady  and  Miss  Miggs, 
sat  waiting  in  the  little  parlour.  This  fact, 
the  toppling  wicks  of  the  dull,  wasted  candles; 
the  silence  that  prevailed;  and  above  all  the 
tiightcaps  of  both  maid  and  matron,  were  suf- 
ficient evidence  that  they  had  been  prepared 
for  bed  some  time  ago,  and  had  some  strong 
reason  for  sitting  up  so  far  beyond  their  usual 
fio'ir. 

If  any  other  corroborative  testimony  had 
been  required,  it  would  have  been  abundantly 
furnished  in  the  actions  of  Miss  Miggs,  who, 
having  arrived  at  that  restless  state  and  sen- 
sitive condition  of  the  nervous  system  which 
are  the  result  of  long  watching,  did,  by  a  con- 
stant rubbing  and  tweaking  of  her  nose,  a  per- 
petual change  of  position  (arising  from  the 
sudden  growth  of  imaginary  knots  and  knobs 
in  her  chair,)  a  frequent  friction  of  her  eye- 
14 


brows,  the  incessant  recurrence  of  a  smaL 
cough,  a  small  groan,  a  gasp,  a  sigh,  a  sniff,  a 
spasmodic  start,  and  by  other  demonstrations 
of  that  nature,  so  file  down  and  rasp,  as  it 
were,  the  patience  of  the  locksmith,  tiiat  after 
looking  at  her  in  silence  tor  some  tnni;,  he  at 
last  broke  out  into  this  apostrophe: 

"  Miggs  my  good  girl,  go  to  bed — do  go  to 
bed.  You're  really  worse  than  the  dripping 
of  a  hundred  water-butts  outside  the  window, 
or  the  scratching  of  as  many  mice  behind  the 
wainscot.  I  can't  bear  it.  Do  go  to  bed, 
Miggs.     To  oblige  me— do." 

"  You  haven't  got  nothing  to  untie  sir,"  re- 
turned Miss  Miggs,  "and  therefore  your  re- 
quests does  not  surprise  me.  But  Miasis  has 
— and  while  you  set  up,  inim" — she  ydded, 
turning  to  the  locksmith's  wife,  "I  couldn't, 
no  not  if  twenty  times  the  quantity  of  cold 
water  was  aperiently  running  down  my  hack 
at  this  moment,  go  to  bed  with  a  quiet  spirit." 

Having  spoken  these  words.  Miss  Miggs 
made  divers  etibrts  to  rub  her  shoulders  in  an 
impossible  place,  and  shivered  from  head  to 
foot ;  thereby  giving  the  beholders  to  under- 
stand that  the  imaginary  cascade  was  still  in 
full  flow,  but  that  a  sense  of  duty  upheld  her 
under  that,  and  all  other  sufferings,  and  nerved 
her  to  endurance. 

Mrs.  Varden  being  too  sleepy  to  speak,  and 
Miss  Miggs  having,  as  the  phrase  is,  said  her 
say,  the  locksmith  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  sigh 
and  be  as  quiet  as  he  could. 

But  to  be  quiet  with  such  a  basilisk  before 
him,  was  impossible.  If  he  looked  another 
v.'ay,  it  was  worse  to  feel  that  she  was  rubbing 
her  cheek,  or  twitching  her  ear,  or  winking 
her  eye,  or  making  all  kinds  of  extraordinary 
shapes  with  her  nose,  than  to  see  her  do  it. 
If  she  was  fiir  a  moment  free  from  any  of  these 
complaints,  it  was  only  because  of  hert()ot  be- 
ing asleep,  or  ot'  her  arm  having  got  the  fid- 
gets, or  of  her  leg  being  doubled  up  witli  th(; 
cramp,  or  of  some  other  horrible  disorder 
which  racked  her  whole  frame.  If  ahe  did 
enjoy  a  moment's  ease,  then  with  her  eyes 
shut  and  her  mouth  wide  open  she  would  be 
seen  to  sit  very  stiff  and  upright  in  her  chair; 
then  to  nod  a  little  way  forward,  and  stop 
with  a  jerk  ;  then  to  nod  a  little  further  for- 
ward, and  stop  with  another  jerk  ;  then  to  re- 
cover herself;  then  to  come  forward  again — 
lower — lower — lower — by  very  slow  degrees, 
until,  just  as  it  seemed  impossible  that  she 
could  preserve  her  balance  tor  another  instant, 
and  the  locksmith  was  about  to  call  oui  m  an 
agony,  to  save  her  from  dashing  down  upon 
her  forehead  and  fracturing  her  skull,  then, 
all  of  a  sudden  and  without  the  smallest  no- 
tice, she  would  come  upright  and  rigid  agaii; 
with  her  eyes  open,  and  in  her  countenance 
an  expression  of  defiance,  sleepy  but  yet  raait 


214 


BARNABY    R  U  D  G  E. 


obstinate,  which  plainly  said  "I've  never 
t)nce  closed  'em  since  1  looked  at  you  last,  and 
I'll  take  my  oath  of  it!" 

At  length,  after  the  clock  had  struck  two, 
there  was  a  sound  at  the  street  door  as  if  some- 
body hful  fallen  against  the  knocker  by  acci- 
dent. Miss  Micrsis  nnmediately  jumping  up 
and  clapping  her  hands,  cried  with  a  drowsy 
niingluig  of  the  sacred  and  profane,  "Ally 
Looyer  Miin  !  there  's  Simmuns's  knock  !" 

"  Who's  there  i"  said  Gabriel. 

"  Me  !"  cried  the  well-known  voice  of  Mr. 
Tappertit.  Gabriel  opened  the  door,  and 
gave  iiim  admission. 

He  did  not  cut  a  very  insinuating  figure; 
for  a  man  of  his  stature  suffers  in  a  crowd : 
and  having  been  active  in  yesterday  morning's 
work,  his  dress  was  literally  crushed  from 
head  to  fool:  his  hat  being  beaten  out  of  all 
shape,  and  his  shoes  trodden  down  at  heel  like 
(slippers.  His  coat  fluttered  in  strips  about 
him,  the  buckles  were  torn  away  both  from 
his  knees  and  feet,  half  liis  neckerchief  was 
gone,  and  the  bosom  of  his  shirt  was  rent  to 
tatters.  Yet  notwithstanding  all  these  per- 
eonal  disadvantages;  despite  his  being  very 
weak  from  heat  and  fatigue;  and  so  begrimed 
with  mud  and  du^^t  that  he  might  have  been 
in  a  case,  for  anything  of  the  real  texture 
(eitlier  of  his  skin  or  apparel)  that  the  eye 
could  discern;  he  stalked  haughtily  into  the 
parlour,  and  throwing  himself  into  a  chair,  and 
endeavouring  to  thrust  his  hands  into  the  pock- 
ets of  his  small-clothes,  which  were  turned 
inside  out  and  displayed  upon  his  legs,  like 
■^ssels,  surveyed  the  household  with  a  gloomy 
lignity. 

"  Snnon,"  said  the  locksmith  gravely,  "  hov/ 
comes  it  that  you  return  home  at  this  time  of 
night,  and  in  this  condition  1  Give  me  an 
assurance  that  you  have  not  been  among  the 
rioters,  and  I  am  satisfied." 

"Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a  con- 
temptuous look,  "  I  wonder  at  your  assurance 
m  making  such  demands." 

"  You  have  been  drinking,"  said  the  lock- 
«mith. 

"  As  a  general  principle,  and  in  the  most 
offensive  sense  of  the  words,  sir,"  returned  his 
journeyman  with  great  self-possession,  "  I  con- 
sider you  a  liar.  In  that  last  observation  you 
have  unintentionally — unintentionally,  sir — 
struck  upon  the  truth." 

"  Martha,"  said  the  locksmith,  turning  to 
his  wife,  and  shaking  his  head  sorrowfully, 
while  a  smile  at  the  absurd  figure  before  him 
still  played  upon  his  open  tiice,  "  I  trust  it 
may  turn  out  that  this  poor  lad  is  not  the  vic- 
tim of  the  knaves  and  tools  we  have  so  often 
had  words  about,  and  who  have  done  so  much 
harm  this  day.  If  he  has  been  at  Warwick 
Street  or  Duke  Street  to-nigiit — " 

•'  He  has  been  at  neither,  sir,"  cried  Mr. 
Tappertit  in  a  loud  voice,  which  he  suddenly 
dropped  into  a  whisper  as  he  repeated,  with 
eves  fixed  upon  Ihe  locksmith,  "he  has  been 


"  I  am  glad  of  it,  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
the  locksmith  in  a  serious  tone ;  "  tor  if  he 
had  been,  and  it  could  be  proved  against  him, 
Martha,  your  great  association  would  have 
been  to  him  the  cart  that  draws  men  to  the 
gallows  and  leaves  them  hanging  in  the  air. 
It  would,  as  sure  as  we're  alive !" 

Mrs.  Vardeii  was  too  much  scared  by  Si- 
mon's altered  manner  and  appearance,  and  by 
the  accounts  of  the  rioters  which  had  reached 
her  ears  that  night,  to  offer  any  retort,  or  to 
have  recourse  to  her  usual  matrunonial  policy. 
Miss  Miggs  wrung  her  hands,  and  wept. 

"He  was  not  at  Duke  Street  or  at  War 
wick  Street,  G.  Varden,"  said  Simon,  sternly  ; 
"  but  he  was  at  Westminster.  Perhaps,  sir, 
he  kicked  a  county  member,  perhaps  sir  he 
■tapped  a  lord — you  may  stare,  sir,  I  repeat  it 
— blood  flowed  from  noses,  and  peibaps  he 
tapped  a  lord.  Who  knows?  This,"  he  add- 
ed, putting  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat-pocket, 
and  taking  out  a  large  tooth,  at  sight  of  which 
both  Miggs  and  Mrs.  Varden  screamed,  "  thia 
was  a  bishop's.     Beware,  G.  Varden  !" 

"Now,  I  would  rather,"  said  the  lock- 
smith hastily,  "  have  paid  five  hundred  pounds, 
than  had  this  come  to  pass.  You  idiot,  do  you 
know  what  peril  you  stand  in  .'" 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  replied  his  journeyman, 
"  and  it  is  my  glory.  I  was  there,  every- 
body saw  me  there.  I  was  conspicuous  and 
prominent.  I  will  abide  the  consequences." 
The  locksmith,  really  disturbed  and  agitat 
ed,  paced  to  and  fro  in  silence — glancing  at 
his  termer  'prentice  every  now  and  then — 
and  at  length  stopping  belbre  him,  said : 

"  Get  to  bed,  and  sleep  tor  a  couple  of  houra 
that  you  may  wake  penitent,  and  with  some 
of  your  senses  about  you.  Be  sorry  for  what 
you  have  done,  and  we  will  try  to  save  you. 
If  I  call  him  by  five  o'clock,"  said  Varden, 
turning  hurriedly  to  his  wife,  "  and  he  washes 
himself  clean  and  changes  his  dress,  he  may 
gel  to  the  Tower  Stairs,  and  away  by  the 
Giavesend  tide-boat,  before  any  search  la 
made  for  him.  From  there  he  can  easily  get 
on  to  Canterbury,  whereyour  cousin  will  give 
him  work  till  this  storm  has  blown  over,  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  do  right  in  screening  him 
from  the  punishment  he  deserves,  but  he  has 
lived  in  this  house,  man  and  boy,  for  a  dozen 
years,  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  for  this  one 
day's  work  he  made  a  miserable  end.  Lock 
the  front  door  Miggs,  and  show  no  light  to- 
wards the  street  when  you  go  up  stairs 
Quick,  Simon  !     Get  to  bed  !" 

"And  do  you  suppose,  sir,"  retorted  Mr 
Tappertit,  with  a  thickness  and  slowness  of 
'  speech  which  contrasted  tbrcibly  with  the  ra- 
1  pidity  and  earnestness  of  his  kind-hearted 
j  master — "  and  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  am 
[  base  and  mean  enough  to  accept  your  servile 
I  proposition  .' — Miscreant  1" 
!  "  Whatever  you  please,  Sim,  but  get  to 
;  bed.  Every  minute  is  of  con.spquence.  Tho 
j  light  here,  Miggs!" 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


815 


"  Yes,  yes,  oh  do !  Go  to  bed  directly," 
cried  the  two  women  togetiier, 

Mr.  Tappertit  stood  upon  his  feet,  and 
pushing  his  chair  away  to  show  that  he  need- 
ed no  assistance,  answered,  swaying  himself 
to  and  fro,  and  managing  his  head  as  if  it  had 
no  connexion  whatever  with  his  body: 

"  You  spoke  of  Miggs,  sir — Miggs  may  be 
smothered  !" 

"  Oh  Simmun  !"  ejaculated  that  young  lady 
in  a  faint  voice.  "Oh  mim!  Oh  sir!  Oh 
goodness  gracious,  what  a  turn  he  has  give 
me !" 

"  This  family  may  all  be  smothered,  sir," 
returned  Mr.  Tappertit,  after  glancing  at  her 
witli  a  smile  of  ineffable  disdain,  "excepting 
Mrs.  V.  I  have  come  here,  sir,  for  her  sake 
this  night.  I\Irs.  Varden,  take  this  piece  of 
paper.  It's  a  protection,  ma'am.  You  may 
need  it." 

With  these  words  he  held  out  at  arm's 
length,  a  dirty,  crumpled  scrap  of  writing. 
The  locksmith  took  it  from  him,  opened  it, 
and  read  as  follows: 

"  All  good  friends  to  our  cause,  I  hope  will 
be  particular,  and  do  no  injury  to  the  property 
of  any  true  Protestant.  I  am  well  assured 
that  the  proprietor  of  this  house  is  a  staunch 
and  worthy  friend  to  the  cause. 

"  George  Gordon." 

"  What's  this!"  said  the  locksmith,  with  an 
altered  face. 

"  Something  that  '11  do  you  good  service, 
young  feller,"  replied  his  journeyman,  "as 
you'll  find.  Keep  that  safe,  and  where  you 
can  lay  your  hand  upon  it  in  an  instant.  And 
chalk  'No  Popery'  on  your  door  to-morrow 
night,  and  for  a  week  to  come — that's  all." 

"This  is  a  genuine  document,"  said  the 
locksmith,  "  1  know,  for  I  have  seen  the  hand 
before.  What  threat  does  it  imply  ]  What 
devil  is  abroad  I" 

"A  fiery  devil,"  retorted  Sim;  "a  flaming, 
furious  devil.  Don't  you  put  yourself  in  its 
way,  or  you're  done  for,  my  buck.  Be  warn- 
ed in  time,  G.  Varden.     Farewell !" 

Rut  here  the  two  women  threw  themselves 
in  his  way  —  especially  Miss  Miggs,  who  fell 
upon  him  with  such  fervour  that  she  pinned 
him  airainst  the  wall  —  and  conjured  him  in 
moving  words  not  to  go  forth  till  he  was 
sober;  to  listen  to  reason;  to  think  of  it;  to 
take  some  rest,  and  then  determine. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  "  that  my 
mind  is  made  up.  My  bleeding  country  calls 
me,  and  I  so !  Miggs,  if  you  don't  get  out  of 
the  way,  I'll  pinch  you." 

Miss  Misfgs,  still  clinging  to  the  rebel, 
^creamed  once  vociferously  —  but  whether  in 
the  distraction  of  her  mind,  or  because  of  his 
havinn^  executpd  his  threat,  is  uncertain. 

"Release  me,"  said  Simon,  struggling  to! 
free  himself  from  her  chaste,  but  spider-like 
embrace.  "  Let  me  go  !  I  have  made  ar- 1 
ranirements  for  you  in  an  altered  state  of  [ 
wxiiety.  and   mean   to  provide  fcr  you  com-, 


fortably  in  life  —  there!  Will  that  satisfy 
you  1" 

"Oh  Simmun  !"  cried  Miss  Miggs.  "Oh 
my  blessed  Simmun  !  Oh  mim,  what  are  my 
feelings  at  this  conflicting  moment !" 

Of  a  rather  turbulent  description,  it  would 
seem  ;  for  her  nightcap  had  been  knocked  off 
in  the  scuffle,  and  she  was  on  her  knees  upon 
the  floor,  making  a  strange  revelation  of  blue 
and  yellow  curl-papers,  straggling  locks  of 
hair,  tags  of  staylaces,  and  strings  of  it's 
impossible  to  say  what ;  panting  for  breath, 
clasping  her  hands,  turning  her  eyes  upwards, 
shedding  abundance  of  tears,  and  exhibiting 
various  other  symptoms  of  the  acutest  mental 
suffering. 

"  I  leave,"  said  Simon,  turning  to  his  mas- 
ter, with  an  utter  disregard  of  Miggs's  maiden- 
ly aftliclion,  "a  box  of  things  up  stairs.  Do 
what  you  like  with  'em.  /  don't  want  'em. 
I  'm  never  coming  back  here,  any  more.  Pro- 
vide yourself,  sir,  with  a  journeyman  ;  I  'm  my 
country's  journeyman;  henceforward  that's 
my  line  of  business." 

"Be  what  you  like  in  two  hours'  time,  but 
now  go  up  to  bed,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
plantmg  himself  in  the  doorway.  "  Do  you 
hear  me  1     Go  to  bed  !" 

"I  hear  you,  and  defy  you,  Varden,"  re- 
joined Simon  Tappertit.  "  This  nighi,  sir,  I 
have  been  in  the  country,  planning  an  expe- 
dition which  shall  fill  your  bell-hanging  soul 
with  wonder  and  dismay.  The  plot  demands 
my  utmost  energy.     Lot  me  pass!" 

"  I  '11  knock  you  down  if  you  come  near  the 
door,"  replied  the  locksmith.  "  You  had  better 
go  to  bed  !" 

Simon  made  no  answer,  but  gathering  him- 
self up  as  straight  as  he  could,  plunged  head 
foremost  at  his  old  master,  and  the  two  went 
driving  out  into  the  workshop  together,  ply- 
ing their  hands  and  feet  so  briskly  that  they 
looked  like  half-a-dozen,  while  Miggs  and 
Mrs.  Varden  screamed  for  twelve. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  Varden  to 
knock  his  old  'prentice  down,  and  bind  him 
hand  and  foot;  but  as  he  was  loath  to  hurt 
him  in  his  then  defenceless  state,  he  contented 
himself  with  parrying  his  blows  when  he 
could,  taking  them  in  perfect  good  part  when 
he  could  not,  and  kqeping  between  him  and 
the  door,  until  a  favourable  opportunity  should 
present  itself  for  forcing  him  to  retreat  up 
stairs,  and  shutting  him  up  in  his  own  room. 
But  in  the  goodness  of  his  heart,  he  calculated 
too  much  upon  his  adversary's  weakness,  and 
forgot  that  drunken  men  who  have  lost  the 
power  of  walking  steadily,  can  often  run. 
Watching  his  time,  Simon  Tappertit  made  a 
cunning  show  of  falling  back,  staggered  un- 
expectedly forward,  brushed  past  him,  opened 
the  door  (he  knew  the  trick  of  that  lock  well), 
and  darted  down  the  street  like  a  mad  dog. 
The  locksmith  paused  fur  a  moment  in  the 
excess  of  his  astonishment,  and  then  gave 
chase. 

It  was  an  exceilent  season  tor  a  run,  for  ai 


816 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


that  silent  hour  the  streets  were  deserted,  the 
air  was  cool,  and  the  flying  figure  before  him 
distinctly  visible  at  a  great  distance,  as  it 
sped  away,  with  a  long  gaunt  shadow  follow- 
ing at  its  heels.  But  the  short-winded  lock- 
smith had  no  chance  against  a  man  of  Sim's 
youth  and  spare  figure,  though  the  day  had 
been  when  he  could  have  run  him  down  in  no 
time.  The  space  between  them  rapidly  in- 
creased, and  as  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
streamed  upon  Simon  in  the  act  of  turning  a 
distant  corner,  Gabriel  Varden  was  fain  to 
give  up,  and  sit  down  on  a  door-step  to  fetch 
his  breath.  Simon  meanwhile,  without  once 
stopping,  fled  at  the  same  degree  of  swiftness 
to  the  Boot,  where,  as  he  well  knew,  some  of 
his  company  were  lying,  and  at  which  re- 
spectable hostelry — for  he  had  already  ac- 
quired the  distinction  of  being  in  great  peril 
of  the  law  —  a  friendly  watch  had  been  ex- 
pecting him  all  night,  and  was  even  now  on 
the  look-out  for  his  coming. 

"  Go  thy  ways,  Sim,  go  thy  ways,"  said  the 
locksmith,  as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  "I 
have  done  my  best  for  thee,  poor  lad,  and 
would  have  saved  thee,  but  the  rope  is  round 
thy  neck,  I  fear." 

So  saying,  and  shaking  his  head  in  a  very 
sorrowful  and  disconsolate  manner,  he  turned 
back,  and  soon  re-entered  his  own  house, 
where  Mrs.  Varden  and  the  faithful  Miggs 
had  been  anxiously  expecting  his  return. 

Now  Mrs.  Varden  (and  by  consequence 
Miss  Miggs  likewise)  was  impressed  with  a 
secret  misgiving  that  she  had  done  wrong; 
that  she  had,  to  the  utmost  of  her  small  means, 
aided  and  abetted  the  growth  of  disturbances, 
the  end  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  foresee ; 
that  she  had  led  remotely  to  the  scene  which 
had  just  passed ;  and  that  the  locksmith's 
time  for  triumph  and  reproach  had  now  arrived 
indeed.  And  so  strongly  did  Mrs.  Varden 
feel  this,  and  so  crest-fallen  was  she  in  conse- 
quence, that  while  her  husband  was  pursuing 
their  lost  journeyman,  she  secreted  under  her 
chair  the  little  red-brick  dwelling  house  with 
the  yellow  roof,  lest  it  should  furnish  new 
occasion  for  reference  to  the  painful  theme ; 
and  now  hid  the  same  still  farther,  with  the 
skirts  of  her  dress. 

But  it  happened  that  the  locksmith  had  been 
thinking  of  this  very  article  on  his  way  home, 
and  that,  coming  into  the  room  and  not  seeing 
it,  he  at  once  demanded  where  it  was. 

Mrs.  Varden  had  no  resource  but  to  produce 
it,  which  she  did  with  many  tears,  and  broken 
protestations  that  if  she  could  have  known — 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Varden,  "of  course  —  I 
know  that.  I  don't  mean  to  reproach  you, 
my  dear.  But  recollect  from  this  time  that 
bII  good  things  perverted  to  evil  purposes,  are 
worse  than  those  which  are  naturally  bad.    A 


thoroughly  wicked  woman,  is  wicked  indeed. 
When  religion  goes  wrong,  she  is  very  wrong, 
for  the  same  reason.  Let  us  say  no  more 
about  it,  my  dear." 

So  he  dropped  the  red-brick  dwelling-house 
on  the  floor,  and  setting  his  heel  upon  it, 
crushed  it  into  pieces.  The  halfpence,  and 
sixpences,  and  other  voluntary  contributions, 
rolled  about  in  all  directions,  but  nobody  ofl'er- 
ed  to  touch  them,  or  to  take  them  up. 

"  That,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  is  easily  dis- 
posed of,  and  1  would  to  Heaven  that  every 
thing  growing  out  of  the  same  society  could 
be  settled  as  easily." 

"  It  happens  very  fortunately,  Varden,"  said 
his  wife,  with  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
"that  in  case  any  more  disturbances  should 
happen — which  I  hope  not;  I  sincerely  hope 
not—" 

"  I  hope  so  too,  my  dear." 

" — That  in  case  any  should  occur,  we  have 
the  piece  of  paper  which  that  poor  misguided 
young  man  brought." 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  locksmith,  turn- 
ing quickly  round.  "  Where  is  that  piece  of 
paper !" 

Mrs.  Varden  stood  aghast  as  he  took  it  from 
her  outstretched  hand,  tore  it  into  fragments, 
and  threw  them  under  the  grate. 

"Not  use  it!"  she  said. 

"  Use  it !"  cried  the  locksmith.  "  No  !  Let 
them  come  and  pull  the  roof  about  our  ears, 
let  them  burn  us  out  of  house  and  home;  I'd 
neither  have  the  protection  of  their  leader, 
nor  chalk  their  howl  upon  my  door,  though, 
for  not  doing  it,  they  shot  me  on  my  own 
threshold.  Use  it !  Let  them  come  and  do 
their  worst.  The  first  man  who  crosses  mj 
door-step  on  such  an  errand  as  theirs,  had  bet- 
ter  be  a  hundred  miles  away.  Let  him  look 
to  it.  The  others  may  have  their  will.  1 
wouldn't  beg  or  buy  them  oft',  if,  instead  of 
every  pound  of  iron  in  the  place,  there  was  a 
hundred  weight  of  gold.  Get  you  to  bed, 
Martha.  I  shall  take  down  the  shutters  and 
go  to  work." 

"  So  early  !"  said  his  wife. 

"Ay,"  replied  the  locksmith  cheerily,  "so 
early.  Come  when  they  may,  they  shall  not 
find  us  skulking  and  hiding,  as  if  we  feared  to 
take  our  portion  of  the  light  of  day,  and  left  it 
all  to  them.  So  pleasant  dreams  to  you,  my 
dear,  and  cheerful  sleep!" 

With  that  he  gave  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss, 
and  bade  her  delay  no  longer,  or  it  would  be 
time  to  rise  before  she  lay  down  to  rest.  Mrs. 
Varden  quite  amiably  and  meekly  walked  up 
stairs,  followed  by  Miggs,  who,  although  a 
good  deal  subdued,  could  not  refrain  from  sun- 
dry stimulative  coughs  and  sniffs  by  the  way, 
or  from  holding  up  her  hands  in  astonishment 
at  the  daring  conduct  of  m.aster. 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


217 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-SECOND. 


A  MOB  is  usually  a  creature  of  very  mys- 
«rious  existence,  particularly  in  a  larjje  city. 
Where  it  conies  tVoin  or  whither  it  g^oes,  tew 
tnen  can  tell.  Assemblinnr  and  dispersinir 
with  equal  suddenness,  it  is  as  difficult  to  fol- 
low tc  its  various  sources  as  the  sea  itself;  nor 
does  the  parallel  stop  hero,  for  the  ocean  is 
not  more  fickle  and  uncertain,  more  terrible 
when  roused,  more  unreasonable,  or  more 
cruel. 

The  people  who  were  boisterous  at  West- 
minster upon  the  Friday  mornings  and  were 
casjerly  bent  upon  the  work  of  devastation  in 
Duke  Street  and  Warwick  Street  at  night, 
were,  in  the  mass,  the  same.  Allowing  for 
the  chance  accessions  of  which  any  crowd  is 
morally  sure  in  a  town  where  there  must  al- 
ways be  a  large  number  of  idle  and  profligate 
persons,  one  and  the  same  mob  was  at  both 
places.  Yet  they  spread  themselves  in  various 
directions  when  tliey  dispersed  in  the  after- 
noon, made  no  appointment  for  re-assembling, 
had  no  definite  purpose  or  design,  and  indeed, 
for  anything  they  knew,  were  scattered  be- 
yond the  hope  of  future  union. 

At  the  Boot,  which,  as  has  been  shown,  was 
in  a  manner  the  head  quarters  of  the  rioters, 
there  were  not,  upon  this  Friday  night,  a  dozen 
people.  Some  slept  in  the  stable  and  out- 
houses, some  in  the  common  room,  some  two 
or  tliree  in  beds.  The  rest  were  in  their  usual 
homes  or  haunts.  Perhaps  not  a  score  in  all 
lay  in  the  adjacent  fields  and  lanes,  and  under 
haystacks,  or  near  the  warmth  of  brick-kilns, 
who  had  not  their  accustouied  place  of  rest 
beneath  the  open  sky.  As  to  the  public  ways 
within  the  town,  they  had  their  ordinary  night- 
ly occupants,  and  no  others;  the  usual  amount 
of  vice  and  wretchedness,  but  no  more. 

The  experience  of  one  evening,  however, 
had  taugi'.t  the  reckless  leaders  of  disturbance, 
tijat  they  had  but  to  show  themselves  in  the 
streets,  to  be  immediately  surrounded  by  ma- 
terials which  they  could  only  have  kept  to- 
gether when  their  aid  was  not  required,  at 
great  risk,  expense,  and  trouble.  Once  pos- 
sessed of  this  secret,  they  were  as  confidentas 
if  twenty  thousand  men,  devoted  to  their  will, 
had  boon  encamped  about  them,  and  assumed 
a  confidence  which  could  not  have  been  sur- 
passed, though  that  had  really  been  the  case. 
All  day  Siturday,  they  remained  quiet.  On 
Sunday,  they  rather  studied  how  to  keep  their 
men  within  call,  and  in  full  hope,  than  to  fol- 
low out,  by  any  very  fierce  measure,  their 
first  day's  proceedings. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Dennis,  as,  with  a  loud 
yawn,  he  raised  his  body  from  a  heap  of  straw 
on  which  he  had  been  sleepino-,  and  support- 
ing his  head  upon  his  hand,  appealed  to  Hujh 
on  Sunday  morning,  "that  Muster  Gashford 
18*  2C 


allows  some  rest?  Perhaps  he'd  have  us  at 
work  again  already,  ehr' 

"  It's  not  his  way  to  let  matters  drop,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that,"  growled  Hugh  in  an- 
swer. "  I  'm  in  no  humour  to  stir  yet,  though. 
I  'm  as  stiflT  as  a  dead  body,  and  as  full  of  ugly 
scratches  as  if  I  had  been  fighting  all  day  yes- 
terday with  wild-cats." 

"You've  so  much  enthusiasm,  that's  it," 
said  Dennis,  looking  with  great  admiration  at 
the  uncombed  head,  matted  beard,  and  torn 
hands  and  face  of  the  wild  figure  before  him; 
"you're  such  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  You  hurt 
yourself  a  hundred  times  more  than  you  need, 
because  you  will  be  foremost  in  everything, 
and  will  do  more  than  the  rest." 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  returned  Hugh, 
shaking  back  his  ragged  hair  and  glancing 
towards  the  door  of  the  stable  in  which  they 
lay ;  "  there 's  one  yonder  as  good  as  me. 
What  did  I  tell  you  about  him"?  Did  I  say  he 
was  worth  a  dozen,  when  you  doubted  him"!" 

Mr.  Dennis  rolled  lazily  over  upon  his 
breast,  and  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hand  in 
imitation  of  the  attitude  in  which  Hugh  lay, 
said,  as  he  too  looked  towards  the  door : 

"  Ay  ay,  you  knew  him  brother,  you  knew 
him.  But  who  'd  suppose  to  look  at  that  chap 
now,  that  he  could  be  the  man  he  is!  Isn't 
it  a  thousand  cruel  pities,  brother,  that  instead 
of  taking  his  nat'ral  rest  and  qualifying  him- 
self for  further  exertions  in  this  here  Annoura- 
ble  cause,  he  should  be  playing  at  soldiers  like 
a  boy]  And  his  cleanliness,  too!"  said  Mr. 
Dennis,  who  certainly  had  no  reason  to  enter- 
tain a  fellow  feeling  with  anybody  who  was 
particular  on  that  score:  "  what  weaknesses 
he 's  guilty  of,  with  respect  to  his  cleanliness  ! 
At  five  o'clock  this  morning,  there  he  was  at 
the  pump,  though  any  one  would  think  ho 
had  gone  through  enough  the  day  before  yes- 
terday, to  be  pretty  fast  asleep  at  that  time. 
But  no — when  I  woke  for  a  minute  or  two, 
there  he  was  at  the  pump,  and  if  you  'd  have 
seen  him  sticking  them  peacock's  feathers 
into  his  hat  when  he'd  done  washinir — ah! 
I'm  sorry  he's  such  a  imperfect  ch.aracter, 
but  the  best  on  us  is  incomplete  in  some  pint 
of  view  or  another." 

The  subject  of  this  dialogue  and  of  these 
concluding  remarks  which  were  uttered  in  a 
tone  of  philosophical  meditation,  was,  as  the 
reader  will  have  divined,  no  other  than  Bar- 
naby,  who,  with  his  flag  in  his  hand,  stood 
sentry  in  the  little  patch  of  sunlight  at  the 
distant  door,  or  walked  to  and  fro  outside, 
singing  softly  to  himself,  and  keeping  time  to 
the  music  of  some  clear  church  bells.  Whether 
he  stood  still,  leaning  with  both  hands  on  the 
flag-stafll  or,  bearing  it  upon  his  shoulder, 
paced  slowly  up  and  down,   the  careful  ar- 


218 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


rangcment  of  his  poor  dress,  and  his  erect  and 
lofty  bearings,  showed  how  hio^h  a  sense  he 
had  of  the  yreat  importance  of  his  trust,  and 
how  happy  and  how  proud  it  made  him.  To 
Hugh  and  his  companion,  wiio  lay  in  a  dark 
corner  of  the  gloomy  shed,  he,  and  the  sun- 
iio-ht,  and  the  peaceful  Sabbath  sound  to  which 
he  made  response,  seemed  like  a  bright  pic- 
ture framed  by  the  door,  and  set  off"  by  the 
stable's  blackness.  The  whole  formed  such  a 
contrast  to  themselves,  as  they  lay  wallowing, 
like  some  obscene  animals,  in  their  squalor 
and  wickedness  on  the  two  heaps  of  straw, 
that  for  a  few  moments  they  looked  on  with- 
out speaking,  and  felt  almost  ashamed. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Hugh  at  length,  carrying  it  off 
with  a  laugh  :  "  He  's  a  rare  fellow  is  Barna- 
by,  and  can  do  more,  with  less  rest,  or  meat, 
or  drink,  than  any  of  us.  As  to  his  soldiering, 
I  put  him  on  duty  there." 

"  Then  there  was  a  object  in  it,  and  a  pro- 
per good  one  too,  I  '11  bo  sworn,"  retorted  Den- 
nis with  a  broad  grin,  and  an  oath  of  the  same 
quality.     "  What  was  it,  brother!" 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Hugh,  crawling  a 
little  nearer  to  him,  "that  our  noble  captain 
yonder,  came  in  yesterday  morning  rather  the 
worse  for  liquor,  and  was — like  you  and  me — 
ditto  last  night." 

Dennis  looked  to  where  Simon  Tappertit 
ay  coiled  upon  a  truss  of  hay,  snoring  pro- 
tbundly,  and  nodded. 

"And  our  noble  captain,"  continued  Hugh 
with  another  laugh,  "our  noble  captam  and  I, 
have  planned  for  to-morrow  a  roaring  expedi- 
tion, with  good  profit  in  it." 

"  Against  the  papists  1"  asked  Dennis,  rub- 
bing his  hands. 

"  Ay,  against  the  papists — against  one  of 
'em  kt  least,  that  some  of  us,  and  I  for  one, 
owe  a  good  heavy  grudge  to." 

"Not  Muster  Gashford's  friend  that  he 
spoke  to  us  about  in  my  house,  eh?"  said 
Dennis,  brimfull  of  pleasant  expectation. 
"  The  same  man,"  said  Hugh. 
"That's  your  sort,"  cried  Mr.  Dennis, 
gaily  shaking  hands  with  him,  "that's  the 
kind  of  game.  Let 's  have  revenges  and  inju- 
ries, and  all  that,  and  we  shall  get  on  tvv'ice  as 
last.     Now  you  talk,  indeed  !" 

"  Ha  ha  ha !  The  captain,"  added  Hugh, 
"has  thoughts  of  carrying  off  a  woman  in  the 
bustle,  and — ha  ha  ha  ! — and  so  have  I !" 

Mr.  Dennis  received  this  part  of  the  scheme 
with  a  wry  face,  observing  that  as  a  general 
principle  he  objected  to  women  altogether,  as 
being  unsafe  and  slippery  persons  on  whom 
there  was  no  calculating  with  any  certainty, 
and  who  were  never  in  the  same  mind  for 
four-and-twenty  hours  at  a  stretch.  He  might 
have  expatiated  on  this  suggestive  theme  at 
iriuch  greater  length,  but  that  it  occurred  to 
him  to  ask  what  connexion  existed  between 
the  proposed  expedition  and  Barnaby's  being 
posted  at  the  stable  door  as  sentry ;  to  which 
Hugh  cautiously  replied  in  these  words : 
"  Why,  the  people  we  mean  to  visit,  were 


friends  of  his  once  upon  a  time,  and  I  know 
that  much  of  iiim  to  feel  pretty  sure  that  if  he 
thought  we  were  going  to  do  them  any  harm, 
he'd  be  no  friend  to  our  side,  but  would  lend 
a  ready  hand  to  the  other.  So  I've  persuaded 
him  (for  I  know  him  of  old)  that  Lord  Geoige 
has  picked  him  out  to  guard  this  place  to- 
morrow while  we're  away,  and  that  it's  a 
great  honour — and  so  he's  on  duty  now,  and 
as  proud  of  it  as  if  he  was  a  general.  Ha  hai 
What  do  you  say  to  me  for  a  careful  man  as 
well  as  a  devil  of  a  oneV 

Mr.  Dennis  exhausted  himself  in   compli' 
ments,  and  then  added, 

"  But  about  the  expedition  itself — " 
"About  that,"  said  Hugh,  "you  shall  hear 
all  particulars  from  me  and  the  great  captain 
conjointly  and  both  together — for  see,  he's 
waking  up.  Rouse  yourself  lion-heart.  Ha 
ha  !  Put  a  good  face  upon  it,  and  drink  again. 
Another  hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  you,  captain! 
Call  for  drink  !  There  's  enough  of  gold  and 
silver  cups  and  candlesticks  buried  underneath 
my  bed,"  he  added,  rolling  back  the  straw, 
and  pointing  to  where  the  ground  was  newly 
turned,  "  to  pay  for  it,  if  it  was  a  score  of  casks 
full.     Drink,  captain!" 

Mr.  Tappertit  received  these  jovial  prompt- 
ings with  a  very  bad  grace,  being  imich  the 
worse,  both  in  mind  and  body,  \hx  his  two 
nights  of  debauch,  and  but  indifferently  able 
to  stand  upon  his  legs.  With  Hugh's  assist- 
ance, however,  he  contrived  to  stagger  to  the 
pump  ;  and  having  refreshed  himself  with  an 
abundant  draught  of  cold  water,  and  a  copious 
shower  of  the  same  refreshing  liquid  on  his 
head  and  face,  he  ordered  some  rum  and  milk 
to  be  served  ;  and  upon  that  innocent  beverage 
and  some  biscuits  and  cheese  made  a  pretty 
hearty  meal.  That  done,  he  disposed  himself 
in  an  easy  attitude  on  the  giound  beside  his 
two  companions  (who  were  carousing  after 
their  own  tastes,)  and  proceeded  to  enlighten 
Mr.  Dennis  in  reference  to  to-morrow's  pro- 
ject. 

That  their  conversation  was  an  interesting 
one,  was  rendered  manifest  by  its  length,  and 
by  the  close  attention  of  all  three.  That  it 
was  not  of  an  oppressively  grave  character, 
but  was  enlivened  by  various  pleasantries 
arising  out  of  the  subject,  was  clear  from  their 
loud  and  frequent  roars  of  laughter,  which 
startled  Barnaby  on  his  post,  and  made  him 
wonder  at  their  levity.  But  he  was  not  sum- 
moned to  join  them,  until  they  had  eaten,  and 
drunk,  and  slept,  and  talked  together  tor  some 
hours;  not,  indeed,  until  the  twilight;  when 
they  informed  him  that  they  were  about  to 
make  a  slight  demonstration  in  the  streets — 
just  to  keep  the  people's  hands  in,  as  it  was 
Sunday  night,  and  the  public  might  otherwise 
be  disappomted — and  that  he  was  free  to  ac- 
company them,  if  he  would. 

Without  the  slightest  preparation,  saving 
that  they  carried  clubs  and  wore  the  blue 
cockade,  they  sallied  out  into  the  streets ;  and, 
with  no  more  settled  design  than  that  of  doing 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


219 


fts  much  mischief  as  they  could,  paraded  them 
at  raruloin.  Tlieir  numbers  rapidly  increasinj,', 
they  soon  divided  into  parties  ;  and  asjreeinij 
to  meet  by-and-by,  in  the  fields  near  VVelbeck 
Street,  scoured  the  town  in  various  directions. 
The  largest  body,  and  that  wiiich  augmented 
with  the  greatest  rapidity,  was  the  one  to 
which  Hugh  and  Barnaby  belonnfed.  This 
took  its  way  towards  Moorfields,  whore  there 
was  a  rich  chapel,  and  in  which  neighbour- 
hood several  Catholic  families  were  known  to 
reside. 

Beginning  with  the  private  houses  so  occu- 
pied, they  broke  open  the  doors  and  windows ; 
and  while  they  destroyed  the  furniture  and 
left  but  the  bare  walls,  made  a  sharp  search 
for  tools  and  engines  of  destruction,  such  as 
hammers,  pokers,  axes,  saws,  and  such  like 
instruments.  Many  of  the  rioters  made  belts 
of  cord,  or  of  handkerchiefs,  or  any  material 
they  tbund  at  hand,  and  wore  these  weapons 
as  openly  as  pioneers  upon  a  field-day.  There 
was  not  the  least  disguise  or  concealment — 
indeed,  on  this  night,  very  little  excitement 
or  hurry.     From  the  chapels,  they  tore  down 


and  took  a  way  the  very  altar:*,  biMiriies,  pul- 
pits, pews,  and  flooring;  fioni  tlic  dwelling- 
houses,  the  very  wainscoting  and  stairs.  This 
Sunday  evening's  recreation  they  pursued  like 
mere  workmen  who  had  a  certain  task  to  do, 
and  did  it.  Fifty  resolute  men  might  havu 
turned  them  at  any  moment;  a  single  compa 
ny  of  soldiers  could  have  scattered  them  like 
dust;  but  no  man  interposed,  no  authority  re- 
strained them,  and,  except  by  the  terrified 
persons  who  lied  from  their  approach,  they 
were  as  little  heeded  as  if  they  were  pursuing 
their  lawful  occupations  with  tiie  utmost  so- 
briety and  good  conduct. 

In  the  same  manner,  they  marched  to  the 
place  of  rendezvous  agreed  upon,  made" great 
fires  in  the  fields,  and  reserving  the  most  val- 
uable of  their  spoils,  burnt  the  rest.  Priestly 
garments,  images  of  saints,  rich  stuffs  and  or- 
naments, altar-furniture  and  household  goods, 
were  cast  into  the  flames,  and  shed  a  glare  on 
the  whole  country  around  ;  but  they  danced, 
and  howled,  and  roared  about  these  fires  till 
they  were  tired,  and  were  never  for  an  in- 
stant checked. 


As  the  main  body  filed  off  from  this  scene 
of  action,  and  passed  down  Welbcck  Street, 
they  came  upon  Gashford,  who  had  been  a 
witness  of  their  proceedings,  and  was  walking 
stealthily  along  the  pavement.  Keeping  up 
with  him,  and  yet  not  seeming  to  speak,  Hugh 
muttered  in  his  ear: 

"  Is  this  better,  master?" 
"  No,"  said  Gashford.     "  It  is  not." 
"  What   would    you   have  V    said    Hugh. 
■•Fevers  are  never  at  their  height  at  once. 
They  must  get  on  by  degrees." 

"  I  would  have  vou,"  said  Gashford,  pinch- 


ing his  arm  with  such  malevolence  that  hia 
nails  seemed  to  meet  in  the  skin;  "I  would 
have  you  put  some  meaning  into  your  work. 
Fools!  Can  you  make  no  better  bonfires 
than  of  rags  and  scraps  1  Can  you  burn  nothing 
whole  ■?" 

"  A  little  patience,  master,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Wait  but  a  few  hours,  and  you  shall  see. 
Look  for  a  redness  in  the  sky,  to-morrow 
night." 

With  that,  he  fell  back  into  his  place  beside 
Barnaby  ;  and  when  the  secretary  looked  aftoj 
him,  both  were  lost  in  the  crowd. 


220 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY  THIRD. 


TiiK  next  day  was  ushered  in  by  merry 
peals  of  bells,  and  by  the  firing  of  the  Tower 
Cfiins ;  flags  were  hoisted  on  many  of  the 
church-steeples ;  the  usual  demonstrations 
were  made,  in  honour  of  the  anniversary  of 
the  King's  birth-day;  and  every  man  went 
about  his  pleasure  or  business,  as  if  the  city 
were  in  perfect  order,  and  there  were  no 
half-smouldering  ("mbers  in  its  secret  places 
which  on  the  approach  of  night  would  kindle 
up  again,  and  scatter  ruin  and  dismay  abroad. 
The  leaders  of  the  riot,  rendered  still  more 
daring  by  the  success  of  last  night  and  by  the 
booty  they  had  acquired,  kept  steadily  to- 
gether, and  only  thought  of  implicating  the 
mass  of  their  followers  so  deeply  that  no  hope 
of  pardon  or  reward  migbt  tempt  them  to  be- 
tray their  more  notorious  confederates  into 
the  hands  of  justice. 

Indeed,  the  sense  of  having  gone  too  far  to 
be  fjroriven,  held  the  timid  together  no  less 
than  the  bold.  Many,  who  would  readily 
have  pointed  out  the  foremost  rioters  and 
given  evidence  against  them,  felt  that  escape 
by  that  means  was  hopeless,  when  their  every 
act  had  been  observed  by  scores  of  people  who 
had  taken  no  part  in  the  disturbances;  who 
had  suffered  in  their  persons,  peace,  or  pro- 
perty, by  the  outrages  of  the  mob ;  who  would 
bo  most  willing  witnesses;  and  whom  the 
government  would,  no  doubt,  prefer  to  any 
King's  evidence  that  might  be  oifered.  Many 
of  this  class  had  deserted  their  usual  occupa- 
tions on  the  Saturday  morning;  some  had 
been  seen  by  their  employers,  active  in  the 
tumult;  others  knew  they  must  be  suspected, 
and  that  they  would  be  discharged  if  they  re- 
turned ;  others  had  been  desperate  from  the 
beginning,  and  comforted  themselves  with  the 
homely  proverb,  that,  being  hung  at  all,  they 
might  as  well  be  hung  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb. 
They  all  hoped  and  believed,  in  a  greater  or 
loss  degree,  that  the  government  they  seemed 
to  have  paralyzed,  would,  in  its  terror,  come 
to  terms  with  them  in  the  end,  and  suffer 
them  to  make  their  own  conditions.  The 
least  sanguine  among  them  reasoned  with 
ftimself  that,  at  the  worst,  they  were  too 
many  to  be  all  punished,  and  that  he  had  as 
good  a  chance  of  escape  as  any  other  man. 
The  great  m^iss  never  reasoned  or  thought  at 
all,  out  were  stimulated  by  their  own  head- 
long passions,  by  poverty,  by  ignorance,  by 
the  love  of  mischief,  and  the  hope  of  plunder. 

One  other  circumstance  is  v/orthy  of  re- 
mark; and  that  is,  that  from  the  moment  of 
their  first  outbreak  at  Westminster,  every 
symptom  of  order  or  preconcerted  arrange- 
ment among  them,  vanished.  When  they 
divided  into  parties  and  ran  to  different  quar- 
ters of  the  town,  it  was  on  the  spontaneous 
suggestion  of  the  moment.     Each  party  swell- 


ed as  it  went  along,  like  rivers  as  they  -i  Al 
towards  the  sea ;  new  leaders  sprang  up  as 
they  were  wanted,  disappeared  wiien  the 
necessity  was  over,  and  reappeared  at  the 
next  crisis.  Each  tumult  took  shape  and 
form,  from  the  circumstances  of  the  moment; 
sober  workmen  going  home  from  their  day's 
labour,  were  seen  to  cast  down  their  baskets 
of  tools  and  become  rioters  in  an  instant; 
mere  boys  on  errands  did  the  like.  In  a  word, 
a  moral  plague  ran  through  the  city.  The 
noise,  and  hurry,  and  excitement,  had  for 
hundreds  and  hundreds  an  attraction  they  had 
ino  firmness  to  resist.  The  contagion  spread, 
like  a  dread  fever:  an  infectious  madness,  as 
yet  not  near  its  height,  seized  on  new  victims 
every  hour,  and  society  began  to  tremble  at 
'  their  ravings. 

I  It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon  when  Gashford  looked  into  the 
lair  described  in  the  last  chapter,  and  seeing 
only  Barnaby  and  Dennis  there,  inquired  for 
Hugh. 

He  was  out,  Barnaby  told  him ;  had  gone 
out  more  than  an  hour  ago ;  and  had  not  yet 
returned. 

"  Dennis !"  said  the  smiling  secretary,  in 
his  smoothest  voice,  as  he  sat  down  cross- 
legged  on  a  barrel,  "Dennis!" 

The  hangman  struggled  into  a  sitting  pos- 
ture  directly,  and  with  his  eyes  wide  open, 
looked  towards  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Dennis  ?"  said  Gashford, 
nodding.  "  I  hope  you  have  suffered  no  incon- 
venience from  your  late  exertions,  Dennisi" 

"I  always  will  say  of  you.  Muster  Gash- 
ford," returned  the  hangman,  staring  at  him, 
"that  that  'ere  quiet  way  of  yours  might 
almost  wake  a  dead  man.  It  is,"  he  added 
with  a  muttered  oath  —  still  staring  at  him  in 
a  thoughtful  manner  — "  so  awful  sly  !" 

"  So  distinct,  eh  Dennis  ]" 

"Distinct!"  he  answered,  scratching  his 
head,  and  keeping  his  eyes  upon  the  secreta- 
ry's face  ;  "  I  seem  to  hear  it,  Muster  Gash- 
ford, in  my  wery  bones." 

"  I  am  very  glad  your  sense  of  hearing  is 
so  sharp,  and  tliat  I  succeed  in  making  n)yself 
so  intelligible,"  said  Gashford,  in  his  unvary- 
ing, even  tone.     "  Where  is  your  friend  ]" 

Mr.  Dennis  looked  round  as  in  expectation 
of  beholding  him  asleep  upon  his  bed  of  straw ; 
then  remembering  that  he  had  seen  him  go 
out,  replied  . 

"  I  can't  say  where  he  is.  Muster  Gashford. 
I  expected  him  back  afore  now.  I  hope  it 
isn't  time  that  we  was  busy,  Muster  Gash- 
ford 1" 

"Nay,"  said  the  secretary,  "who  should 
know  that  as  well  as  you  ?  How  can  /  tell 
you,  Dennis  !  You  are  perfect  master  of 
your  own  actions,  you   know,   and  account- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


221 


able  to  nobody  —  except  sometimes  to  tlie 
law,  ell '" 

Dennis,  wlio  was  very  much  baffled  by  the 
cool  matter-of-coiirse  manner  of  this  reply, 
recovered  his  selt- possession  on  his  profes- 
sional pursuits  beinn^  referred  to,  and  pointing 
towards  Barnaby,  shook  his  head  and  frowned. 

"Hush  !"  cried  Barnaby. 

"  Ah  !  Do  hui^h  about  that,  Muster  Gash- 
ford,"  said  the  hangman  in  a  low  voice, 
"  pop'lar  prejudices  —  you  always  forget  — 
well,  Barnaby  my  lad,  what's  the  matter!" 

"  I  hear  him  coming,"  he  answered :  "  Hark  ! 
Do  you  mark  that?  That's  his  foot!  Bless 
3'ou,  I  know  his  step,  and  his  dog's  too. 
Tramp,  tramp,  pitpat,  on  they  come  together, 
and,  ha,  ha,  ha!  —  and  here  they  are!"  he 
cried  joyfully,  welcoming  Hugh  with  both 
hands,  and  then  patting  him  tbndly  on  the 
back,  as  if  instead  of  being  the  rough  compa- 
nion he  was,  he  liad  been  one  of  tlie  most 
prepossessing  of  men.  "  Here  he  is,  and  safe 
too !  I  am  glad  to  see  him  back  again,  old 
Hugh  !" 

"  I'm  a  Turk  if  he  don't  give  me  a  warmer 
welcome  always  than  any  man  of  sense," 
said  Hugh,  shaking  hands  with  him  with  a 
kind  of  terocious  friendship,  strange  enough 
lo  see.     "  How  are  you,  boy  1" 

"  Hearty  !"  cried  Barnaby,  waving  his  hat. 
"  Ha  ha  ha !  And  merry  too,  Hugh  I  And 
ready  to  do  anything  for  the  good  cause,  and 
the  right,  and  to  help  the  kind,  mild,  pale- 
faced  gentleman  —  the  Lord  they  use  so  ill  — 
eh,  Hugh  r' 

"Ay!"  returned  his  friend,  dropping  his 
hand,  and  looking  at  Gashford  for  an  instant 
with  a  changed  expression  before  he  spoke  to 
him.     "  Good  day,  master  !" 

"  And  good  day  to  you,"  replied  the  secre- 
tary, nursing  his  leg.  "And  many  good  days 
— whole  years  of  them,  1  hope.  You  are 
heated." 

"So  would  you  have  been,  master,"  said 
Hugh,  wiping  his  face,  "if  you'd  been  run- 
ning here  as  fast  as  I  have." 

"You  know  the  news  then?  Yes,  I  sup- 
posed you  would  have  heard  it." 

"  News — what  news  !" 

"You  don't?"  cried  Gashford,  raising  his 
eyebrows  with  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 
"  Dear  me !  Come ;  then  I  am  the  first  to 
make  you  acquainted  with  your  distinguished 
position,  after  all.  Do  you  see  the  King's 
Aims  a-top  ?"  he  smilingly  asked,  as  he  took 
a  large  paper  from  his  pocket,  unfolded  it,  and 
held  it  out  tor  Hugh's  inspection. 

"Well!"  said  Hugh.  "What's  that  to 
me?" 

"  Much.  A  great  deal,"  replied  the  secre- 
tary,    "  Read  it." 

"  I  told  you,  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  that  I 
couldn't  read,"  said  Hugh,  impatiently,  "What 
in  tlie  Devil's  name's  inside  of  it?" 

"It  is  a  proclamation  from  the  King  in 
Council,"  said  Gashford,  "dated  to-day,  and 
offering  a  reward  of  five  hundred  pounds — 


five  hundred  pounds  is  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  a  large  temptation  to  some  people — to  any 
one  who  will  discover  the  person  or  persona 
most  active  in  demolishing  those  chapels  on 
Saturday  night." 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  cried  Hugh,  with  an  indiffer- 
ent air.     "  I  knew  of  that." 

"  Truly  1  might  have  known  you  did,"  said 
Gashford,  smiling,  and  folding  up  the  docu- 
ment again.  "Your  friend,  I  might  have 
guessed — indeed  I  did  guess — was  sure  to  tell 
you." 

"  My  friend  !"  stammered  Hugh,  with  an 
unsuccessful  effort  to  appear  surprised,  "What 
friend  ?" 

"  Tut  tut — do  you  suppose  I  don't  know 
where  you  have  been  ?"  retorted  Gashford, 
rubbing  his  hands,  and  beating  the  back  of  one 
on  the  palm  of  the  other,  and  looking  at  him 
with  a  cunning  eye.  "  How  dull  you  think 
me!  Shall  I  say  his  name?" 

"No,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  hasty  glance  to- 
wards Dennis. 

"  You  have  also  heard  from  him,  no  doubt," 
resumed  the  secretary,  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  that  the  rioters  who  have  been  taken  (poor 
fellows)  are  committed  for  trial,  and  that  some 
very  active  witnesses  have  had  the  temerity  to 
appear  against  them.  Among  others — "  and 
here  he  clenched  his  teeth,  as  if  he  would 
suppress,  by  force,  some  violent  words  that 
rose  upon  his  tongue;  and  spoke  very  slowly. 
"Among  others,  a  gentleman  who  saw  the 
work  going  on  in  Warwick  street ;  a  Catholic 
gentleman  ;  one  Haredale." 

Hugh  would  have  prevented  his  uttering 
the  word,  but  it  was  out  already.  Hearing 
the  name,  Barnaby  turned  swiftly  round. 

"Duty,  duty,  bold  Barnaby  !"  cried  Hugh, 
assuming  his  wildest  and  most  rapid  manner, 
and  thrusting  into  his  hand  his  staff  and  flag 
which  leant  against  the  wall.  "  Mount  guard 
without  loss  of  time,  for  we  are  off  upon  our 
expedition.  Up,  Dennis,  and  get  ready.  Take 
care  that  no  one  turns  the  straw  upon  my 
bed,  brave  Barnaby  ;  we  know  what's  under- 
neath it — eh?  Now,  master,  quick  !  What 
you  have  to  say,  say  speedily,  for  the  little 
captain  and  a  cluster  of 'em  are  in  the  fields, 
and  only  waiting  for  us.  Sharp  's  the  word, 
and  strike's  the  action.     Quick  !"■ 

Barnaby  was  not  proof  against  this  bustle 
and  despatch.  The  look  of  mingled  astonish- 
ment and  anger  which  had  appeared  in  his 
face  when  he  turned  towards  them,  faded  from 
it,  as  the  words  passed  from  his  memory,  like 
breath  from  a  polished  mirror;  and  grasping 
the  weapon  which  Hugh  forced  upon  him,  he 
proudly  look  his  station  at  the  door,  beyond 
their  hearing. 

"You  might  have  spoiled  our  plans,  ma» 
ter,"  said  Hugh,     "  Yon,  too,  of  all  men  !" 

"  Who  would  have  supposed  that  he  wouid 
be  so  quick?"  urged  Gashford. 

"  He  's  as  quick  sometimes — i  don't  mean 
with  his  hands,  for  that  you  know,  but  wilti 
his  head — as  you,  or  any  man,"  said  Hugh. 


222 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"Dennis,  it's  time  we  were  jroinof ;  they're 
vvaitinn-  f'oriis;  1  came  to  tel'  you.  Reach  me 
my  stick  and  belt.  Here  !  Lend  a  liand,  mas- 
ter. Fling  this  over  my  shoulder,  and  buckle 
it  behind,  will  you  !". 

•'Brisk  as  ever!"  said  the  secretary,  ad- 
justinir  it  for  him  as  he  desired. 

"A  man  need  be  brisk  to-day;  there's 
brisk  work  a-foot." 

"  There  is,  is  there?"  said  Gashford.  He 
said  it  with  such  a  provoking  assumption  of 
ignorance,  that  Hugh,  looking  over  his  shoul- 
der and  angrily  down  upon  him,  replied  : 

"  Is  there !  You  know  there  is !  Who 
knows  better  than  you,  master,  that  the  first 
great  step  to  be  taken  is  to  make  examples  of 
these  witnesses,  and  frighten  all  men  from 
appearing  against  us  or  any  of  our  body,  any 
more!" 

"  There 's  one  we  know  of,"  returned 
Gashford,  with  an  expressive  smile,  "  wlio  is 
at  least  as  well  informed  upon  that  subject  as 
you  or  I." 

"  [f  we  mean  the  same  gentleman,  as  I 
suppose  we  do,"  Hugh  rejoined,  softly,  "  I  tell 
you  this — he  's  as  good  and  quick  information 
about  every  thing  as — "  here  he  paused  and 
looked  round,  as  if  to  make  quite  sure  that  the 
person  in  question  was  not  within  hearing — 
"as  Old  Nick  himself  Have  you  done  that, 
master  !     How  slow  you  are  !" 

"  It 's  quite  fast  now,"  said  Gashford,  rising. 
"I  say — you  didn't  find  that  your  friend  dis- 
approved of  to-day's  little  expedition  1  Ha 
ha  ha  !  It  is  fortunate  !  it  jumps  so  well  with 
the  witness'  policy  ;  for,  once  planned,  it  must 
have  been  carried  out.  And  now  you  are 
going,  eh  !" 

"Now  we  are  goin?,  master!"  Hugh  re- 
plied.    "  Any  parting  words!" 

"Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Gashford  sweetly. 
«  None  !" 

"  You're  sure  ]"  cried  Hugh,  nudging  the 
grinning  Dennis. 

"Quite  sure,  eh,  Muster  Gashford?"  chuc- 
kled the  hangman. 

Gashford  paused  a  moment,  struirgling  with 
his  caution  and  his  malice  ;  then  putting  him- 
self between  the  two  men,  and  laying  a  hand 
upon  the  arm  of  each,  said,  in  a  cramped 
whisper : 

"  Do  not,  my  good  friends — I  am  sure  you 
will  not — fi)rget  our  talk  one  night — in  your 
house,  Dennis — about  this  person.  No  mercy, 
no  quarter,  no  tv.'o  beams  of  his  house  to  be  left 
standing  where  the  builder  placed  them ! 
Fire,  the  saying  goes,  is  a  good  servant,  but  a 
bad  master.  IMake  it  his  master;  he  deserves 
no  better.  But  I  am  sure  you  will  be  firm,  I 
am  sure  you  will  be  very  resolute,  I  am  sure 
you  will  remember  that  he  thirsts  for  your 
lives,  and  those  of  all  your  brave  companions. 
If  you  ever  acted  like  stanch  fellows,  you  will 
do  so  to-day.  Won't  you,  Dennis — won't  you, 
Hugh  ]" 

The  two  looked  at  him,  and  at  each  other; 
thflji  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  brand- 


!  ished  their  staves  above  their  heads,  shooi 
hands,  and  hurried  out. 

When  they  had  been  gone  a  little  time, 
Gashford  followed.  They  were  yet  in  sight, 
and  hastening  to  that  part  of  the  adjacent 
fields  in  which  their  fellows  had  already 
mustered  ;  Hugh  was  looking  back,  and  flour- 
ishing  his  hat  to  Barnaby,  who,  delighted 
with  his  trust,  replied  in  the  same  manner, 
and  then  resumed  his  pacing  up  and  down 
before  the  stable-door,  where  his  feet  had 
worn  a  path  already.  And  when  Gashford 
himself  was  far  distant,  and  looked  back  for 
the  last  time,  he  was  still  walking  to  and  fro, 
with  the  same  measured  tread  ;  the  most  de- 
voted and  the  blithest  champion  that  ever 
maintained  a  post,  and  felt  his  heart  lifted  up 
with  a  brave  sense  of  duty,  and  determination 
to  defend  it  to  the  last. 

Smiling  at  the  simplicity  of  the  poor  idiot, 
Gashford  betook  himself  to  Welbeck  Street 
by  a  different  path  from  that  which  he  knew 
the  rioters  would  take,  and  sitting  down  be- 
hind a  curtain  in  one  of  the  upper  windows  of 
Lord  George  Gordon's  house,  waited  impa- 
tiently for  their  coming.  They  were  so  long, 
that  although  he  knew  it  had  been  settled 
they  should  come  that  way,  he  had  a  misgiv- 
ing they  must  have  changed  thfMr  plans  and 
taken  some  other  route.  But  at  length  the 
roar  of  voices  was  heard  in  the  neighbouring 
fields,  and  soon  afterwards  they  came  throng- 
ing past,  in  a  great  body. 

However,  they  were  not  all,  nor  nearly  all, 
in  one  body,  but  were,  as  he  soon  found, 
divided  into  four  parties,  each  of  which  stop- 
ped before  the  house  to  give  three  cheers,  and 
then  went  on;  the  leaders  crying  out  in  what 
direction  they  were  going,  and  calling  on  the 
spectators  to  join  them.  The  first  detach- 
ment, carrying,  by  way  of  banners,  some 
relics  of  the  havoc  they  had  made  in  Moor- 
fields,  proclaimed  that  they  were  on  their 
way  to  Chelsea,  whence  they  would  return  in 
the  same  order,  to  make  of  the  spoil  they  bore, 
a  great  bonfire,  near  at  hand.  The  second 
gave  out  that  they  were  bound  for  Wapping, 
to  destroy  a  chapel ;  the  third,  that  their  place 
of  destination  was  East  Smithfield,  and  their 
object  the  same.  All  this  was  done  in  broad, 
bright,  summer  day.  Gay  carriages  and  chairs 
stojjped  to  let  them  pass,  or  turned  back  to 
avoid  them ;  people  on  foot  stood  aside  in 
doorways,  or  perhaps  knocked  and  begged 
permission  to  stand  at  a  window,  or  in  the 
hall,  until  the  rioters  had  passed  ;  but  nobody 
interfered  with  them ;  and  directly  they  had 
gone  by,  everything  went  on  as  usual. 

There  still  remained  the  fourth  body,  and 
for  that  the  secretary  looked  with  a  most  in- 
tense eagerness.  At  last  it  came  up.  It  was 
numerous,  and  composed  of  picked  men ;  for 
as  he  gazed  down  among  them,  he  recognised 
many  upturned  faces  which  he  knew  well  — 
those  of  Simon  Tappertit,  Hugh,  and  Dennis 
in  the  front,  of  course.  They  halted  and 
cheered,  as  the  others  had  done;  but  when 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


233 


tliry  moved  arr^in,  thpy  did  not,  like  them, 
proclaim  what  desi<rn  they  had.  Hugh  mere- 
ly raised  his  hat  upon  the  bludu^eon  lie  carried, 
and  glancing  at  a  spectator  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  way,  was  gone. 

Gashford  followed  the  direction  of  his  glance 
instinctively,  and  saw,  standing  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  wearing  the  blue  cockade,  Sir  John 
Chester,  lie  held  his  hat  an  inch  or  two 
above  his  head,  to  propitiate  the  mob;  and, 
resting  gracefully  on  his  cane,  smiling  plea- 
santly, and  displaying  his  dress  and  person  to 
the  very  best  advantage,  looked  on  in  the 
most  tranquil  state  imaginable.  For  all  that, 
and  quick  and  dexterous  as  he  was,  Gashford 
had  seen  him  recngnise  Hugh  with  the  air  of 
a  patron.  He  had  no  longer  any  eyes  for  the 
c.-owd,  but  fixed  his  keen  regards  upon  Sir 
John. 

He  stood  in  the  same  place  and  posture, 
until  the  last  man  in  the  concourse  had  turned 
the  corner  of  the  street ;  then  very  deliberate- 
ly took  the  blue  cockade  out  of  his  hat;  put 
it  carefully  in  his  pocket,  ready  for  the  next 
emergency;  refreshed  himself  with  a  pinch 
of  snufi';  pnt  up  his  box;  and  was  walking 
slowly  otf,  when  a  passing  carriage  stopped, 
and  a  lady's  hand  let  down  the  glass.  Sir 
John's  hat  was  off  again  immediately.  After 
a  minute's  conversation  at  the  carriage-win- 
dow, in  which  it  was  apparent  that  he  was 


vastly  entertaining  on  the  subject  of  the  mob, 
he  stepped  lighily  in,  and  was  driven  away. 

Tiie  secrttury  smiled,  but  lie  had  other 
thoughts  10  dwell  upon,  and  soon  dismissed 
the  topic.  Dinner  was  brought  him,  but  he 
sent  it  down  untasled ;  and,  in  restless  pac- 
ings up  and  down  the  room,  and  constant 
glances  at  the  clock,  and  many  futile  efforts 
to  sit  down  and  read,  or  go  to  sleep,  or  look 
out  of  the  window,  consumed  four  weary 
hours.  When  the  dial  told  him  thus  much 
time  had  crept  away,  he  stole  up  stairs  *o  the 
top  of  the  house,  and  coming  out  upon  the 
roof,  sat  down  with  his  face  towards  the  east. 

Heedless  of  the  fresh  air  that  blew  upon 
his  heated  brow,  of  the  pleasant  meadows 
from  which  he  turned,  of  tlie  piles  of  roofs  and 
chimneys  upon  which  he  looked,  of  tiie  smoke 
and  rising  mist  he  vainly  sought  to  pierce,  of 
the  shrill  cries  of  children  at  their  evening 
sports,  the  distant  hum  and  turmoil  of  the 
town,  the  cheerful  country  breatii  tiiat  rustled 
past  to  meet  it,  and  to  droop  and  die;  he 
watched,  and  watched,  till  it  was  dark — save 
for  the  specks  of  light  that  twinkled  in  the 
streets  below  and  far  away — and,  as  the  dark- 
ness deepened,  strained  his  gaze  and  grew 
more  eager  yet. 

"  Nothing  but  gloom  in  that  direction  still !" 
he  muttered  restlessly.  "  Dog  !  where  is  the 
redness  in  the  sky,  you  promised  me  !" 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-FOURTH. 


Rumours  of  the  prevailing  disturbances  had 
by  this  time  begun  to  be  pretty  generally  cir- 
culated through  the  towns  and  villages  round 
London,  and  the  tidings  were  everywhere  re- 
ceived with  that  appetite  for  the  marvellous 
and  love  of  the  terrible  which  have  probably 
been  among  the  natural  characteristics  of 
mankind  since  the  creation  of  the  world. 
These  accounts,  however,  appeared,  to  many 
persons  at  that  day,  as  they  would  to  us  at  the 
present,  but  that  we  know  them  to  be  matter 
of  history,  so  monstrous  and  improbable,  that 
a  great  number  of  those  who  were  resident  at 
a  distance,  and  who  were  credulous  enough 
on  other  points,  were  really  unable  to  bring 
their  minds  to  believe  that  such  things  could 
be;  and  rejected  the  intelligence  they  re- 
ceived on  all  hands,  as  wholly  fabulous  and 
absurd. 

Mr.  W'lllet  —not  so  much,  perhaps,  on  ac- 
count of  his  having  argued  and  settled  the 
matter  with  himself,  as  lay  reason  of  his  con- 
stitutional obstinacy — was  one  of  those  who 
positively  refused  to  entertain  the  current  topic 
for  a  moment.  On  this  very  evening,  and 
perhaps  at  the  very  time  when  Gashforll  kept 
his  solitary  watch,  old  John  was  so  red  in  the 


face  with  perpetually  shaking  his  head  m  con- 
tradiction of  his  three  ancient  cronies  and  pot 
companions,  that  he  was  quite  a  phenomenon 
to  behold ;  and  lighted  up  the  Maypole  Porch 
wherein  they  sat  together,  like  a  monstrous 
carbuncle  in  a  fairy  tale. 

"  Do  you  think,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  look- 
ing hard  at  Solomon  Daisy,  for  it  was  his  cus- 
tom in  cases  of  personal  altercation  to  fasten 
upon  the  smallest  man  in  the  party — "  do  you 
think,  sir,  that  1  'm  a  born  fool  V 

"  No,  no,  Johnny,"  returned  Solomon,  look 
ing  round  upon  the  little  circle  ofw.bich  he 
formed  a  part:  "We  all  know  better  than 
that.     You're  no  fool,  Johnny.     No,  no!" 

Mr.  Cobb  and  Mr.  Parkes  shook  their  heads 
in  unison,  muttering  "  No,  no,  Johnny,  not 
you  !"  But  as  such  compliments  had  usually 
the  effect  of  making  Mr.  Willet  rainer  more 
dogged  than  before,  he  surveyed  them  with  a 
look  of  deep  disdain,  and  returned  foi  answer: 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  here, 
and  telling  me  that  this  evening  you're  going 
to  walk  up  to  London  together — you  three— 
you  —  and  have  the  evidence  of  your  own 
senses  ?  An't,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  putting  his 
i  pipe  in  his  mouth  with  an  air  of  solemn  dia 


224 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


gust,  "  an't  the  evidence  of  my  senses  enough 
for  you  V 

"  But  we  haven't  got  it,  Johnny,"  pleaded 
Parkes,  humbly. 

"You  haven't  got  it,  sirl"  repeated  Mr. 
Willet,  eyeing  him  from  top  to  toe.  "You 
naven't  got  it,  sir?  You  have  got  it,  sir.  Don't 
I  tell  you  that  His  blessed  Majesty  King 
George  tlie  Tliird  vi-ould  no  more  stand  a 
rioting  and  rollicking  in  his  streets,  than  he  'd 
stand  being  crowed  over  by  his  own  Parlia- 
ment 1" 

"  Yes  Johnny,  but  that's  your  sense — not 
your  senses,"  said  the  adventurous  Mr.  Parkes. 

"  How  do  you  know,"  retorted  John  with 
great  dignity.  "  You're  a  contradicting  pretty 
free,  you  are  sir.  How  do  yoii  know  which 
it  is"?  I'm  not  aware  I  ever  told  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Parkes,  finding  himself  in  the  position 
of  having  got  into  metaphysics  without  exact- 
ly seeing  his  way  out  of  them,  stammered 
fortii  an  apology  and  retreated  from  the  argu- 
ment. There  then  endued  a  silence  of  some 
ten  minutes  or  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  at  the 
expiration  of  which  period  Mr.  Willet  was 
observed  to  rumble  and  shake  with  laughter, 
and  presently  remarked,  in  reference  to  his 
late  adversary,  "  that  he  hoped  he  had  tackled 
him  enough."  Thereupon  Messrs.  Cobb  and 
Daisy  laughed,  and  nodded,  and  Parkes  was 
looked  upon  as  thoroughly  and  effectually  put 
down. 

"  Do  you  suppose  if  all  this  was  true,  that 
Mr.  Hareuale  would  be  constantly  away  from 
home,  as  he  is !"  said  John,  after  another  si- 
lence. "  Do  you  think  he  wouldn't  be  afraid 
to  leave  his  house  with  them  two  young 
women  in  it,  and  only  a  couple  of  men  or  so  !" 

"Ay,  but  then  you  know,"  returned  Solo- 
mon Daisy,  "his  house  is  a  goodish  way  out 
of  London,  and  they  say  that  the  rioters  won't 
go  more  than  two  mile,  or  three  at  farthest, 
off  the  stones.  Besides,  you  know,  some  of  tiie 
Catholic  gentlefolks  iiave  actually  sent  trin- 
kets and  such-like  down  here  for  safety — at 
least,  so  the  story  goes." 

"  The  story  goes !"  said  Mr.  Willet  testily. 
"Yes,  sir.  The  story  goes  that  you  saw  a 
ghost  last  March.     But  nobody  believes  it." 

"  Well !"  said  Solomon,  rising,  to  divert  the 
attention  of  his  two  friends,  who  tittered  at 
this  retort:  "believed  or  disbelieved,  it's 
true;  and  true  or  not,  if  we  mean  to  <rn  to 
London,  we  nmst  be  going  at  once.  So  shake 
hands,  Johnny,  and  good  night." 

"  I  shall  shake  hands,"  returned  the  land- 
lord, putting  his  into  his  pockets,  "  witli  no 
man  as  goes  to  London  on  such  nonsensical 
errands." 

The  three  cronies  were  therefore  reduced  to 
the  necessity  of  shaking  his  elbows;  havinsr 
performed  that  ceremony,  and  brought  from  tiie 
house  their  hats,  and  sticks,  and  great-coats, 
they  bade  him  good  night  and  departed ;  pro- 
tfiising  to  bring  him  on  the  morrow  full  and 
?rue  accounts  of  the  real  state  of  the  city,  and 


if  it  were  quiet,  to  give  him  the  full  merit  of 
his  victory. 

John  Willet  looked  after  them,  as  they 
plodded  along  the  road  in  the  rich  glow  of  a 
summer  evening;  and  knocking  the  ashea 
out  of  his  pipe,  laughed  inwardly  at  their 
folly,  until  his  sides  were  sore.  When  he  had 
quite  exhausted  himself — which  took  some 
time,  for  he  laughed  as  slowly  as  he  thought 
and  spoke  —  he  sat  himself  comfortably  with 
his  back  to  the  house,  put  his  legs  upon  the 
bench,  then  his  apron  over  his  face,  and  fell 
sound  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept,  matters  not ;  but  it  was 
for  no  brief  space,  for  when  he  awoke,  the 
rich  light  had  faded,  the  sombre  hues  of  night 
were  falling  fast  upon  the  landscape,  and  a 
few  bright  stars  were  already  twinkling  over- 
head. Tlio  birds  were  all  at  roost,  the  daisies 
on  the  green  had  closed  their  fairy  hoods,  the 
honeysuckle  twining  roimd  the  porch  exhaled 
its  perfume  in  a  twofold  degree,  as  though  it 
lost  its  coyness  at  that  silent  time  and  loved 
to  shed  its  fragrance  on  the  night;  the  ivy 
scarcely  stirred  its  deep  green  leaves.  How 
tranquil,  and  how  beautiful  it  was! 

Was  there  no  sound  in  the  air,  besides  the 
gentle  rustling  of  the  trees  and  the  grasshop- 
per's merry  chirp"?  Hark!  Something  very 
faint  and  distant,  not  unlike  the  murmuring 
in  a  sea-shell.  Now  it  grew  louder,  fainter 
now,  and  now  it  altogether  died  away.  Pres- 
ently—  it  came  again,  subsided,  came  once 
more  ;  grew  louder,  fainter,  swelled  into  a 
roar.  It  was  on  the  road,  and  varied  with  its 
windings.  All  at  once  it  burst  with  a  distinct 
sound — the  voices,  and  the  tramping  feet  of 
many  men. 

It  is  questionable  whether  old  John  Willet, 
even  then,  would  have  thousfht  of  the  rioters, 
but  for  the  cries  of  his  cook  and  housemaid, 
who  ran  screaming  up  stairs  and  locked  them- 
selves  into  one  of  the  old  garrets, — shrieking 
dismally  when  they  had  done  so,  by  way  cf 
rendering  their  place  of  refuge  perfectly  se- 
cret and  secure.  These  two  females  did  af- 
terwards depone  that  Mr.  Willet  in  his  con- 
sternation uttered  but  one  word,  and  called 
that  up  the  stairs  in  a  stentorian  voice,  six 
distinct  times.  But  as  this  word  was  a  mono- 
syllable, which,  however  inoffensive  when  ap- 
plied to  the  quadruped  it  denotes,  is  highly 
reprehensible  when  used  in  connexion  with 
females  of  unimpeachable  chnr;icter,  many 
persons  were  inclined  to  believe  that  the' 
young  women  laboured  under  some  hallucina- 
tion caused  by  excessive  fear;  and  that  their 
ears  deceived  them. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  John  Willet,  in  w^hom 
the  very  uttermost  extent  of  dull-headed  per- 
plexity supplied  the  place  of  courage,  station- 
ed himself  in  the  porch,  and  waited  for  their 
coming  up.  Once,  it  dimly  occurred  to  him 
that  there  was  a  kind  of  door  lo  the  house, 
which  had  a  lock  and  bolts;  and  at  the  same 
time  some  shadowy  ideas  of  shutters  to  the 
lower   windows,   flitted   through    his    braia 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


225 


But  he  stood  stock  still,  looking  down  the  road 
in  the  direction  in  which  the  noise  was  rap- 
idly advancing,  and  did  not  so  much  as  take 
his  hands  out  of  his  pockets. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long.  A  dark  mass, 
looming  through  a  cloud  of  dust,  soon  became 
visible  ;  the  mob  quickened  their  pace  ;  shout- 
ing and  wliooping  like  savages,  they  came 
rushing  on  pell-mell ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he 
was  bandied  from  hand  to  hand,  in  the  heart 
of  a  crowd  of  men. 

"Halloa!"  cried  a  voice  he  knew,  as  the 
man  who  spoke  came  cleaving  through  the 
throng.  •*Wliere  is  he  ]  Give  him  to  me. 
Don'l  hurt  him.  How  now,  old  Jack  !  Ha  ha 
ha!" 

Mr.  Vv'illet  looked  at  him,  and  saw  it  was 
Hugh ;  but  he  said  nothing,  and  thought  no- 
thing. 

"  These  lads  are  thirsty  and  must  drink  !" 
cried  Hugh,  thrusting  him  back  towards  the 
house.  "  Bustle,  Jack,  bustle.  Show  us  the 
best — the  very  best — the  over-proof  that  you 
keep  for  your  own  drinking.  Jack!" 

John  faintly  articulated  the  words,  "  Who's 
to  pay ]" 

"He  says 'Who's  to  pay!' "cried  Hugh, 
with  a  roar  of  laughter  which  was  loudly 
echoed  by  the  crowd.  Then  turning  to  John, 
he  added,  "  Pay  !     Why,  nobody." 

John  stared  round  at  the  mass  of  faces — 
some  grinning,  some  fierce,  some  lighted  up 
by  torches,  some  indistinct,  some  d.isky  and 
shadowy  :  some  looking  at  him,  some  at  his 
house,  some  at  each  other,  —  and  while  he 
was,  as  he  thougiit,  in  the  very  act  of  doing 
60,  found  himself,  without  any  consciousness 
of  having  D)oved,  in  the  bar;  silting  down  in 
an  arm-chair,  and  watching  the  flestruction 
of  his  property,  as  if  it  were  some  queer  play 
or  entertainment,  of  an  astonishing  and  stupe- 
fviig  nature,  but  having  no  reference  to 
hi.  iself — that  he  could  make  out — at  all. 

Yes.  Here  was  the  bar — the  bar  that  the 
hc'dest  never  entered  without  special  invita- 
tion— the  sanctuary,  the  mystery,  the  hallow- 
ed ground :  here  it  was,  crammed  with  men, 
clubs,  sticks,  torches,  pistols;  filled  with  a 
deafening  noise,  oaths,  shouts,  screams,  hoot- 
ings ;  changed  all  at  once  into  a  bear-garden, 
a  madhouse,  an  infernal  temple  :  men  darting 
in  and  out,  by  door  and  window,  smashing  the 
glass,  turning  the  taps,  drinking  liquor  out  of 
China  punclibovvls,  sitting  astride  of  casks, 
smoking  private  and  personal  pipes,  cutting 
dpwn  the  sacred  grove  of  lemons,  hacking  and 
hewing  at  the  celebrated  cheese,  breaking 
open  inviolable  drawers,  putting  things  in 
their  pockets  which  didn't  belong  to  them, 
dividing  his  own  money  before  his  own  eyes, 
wantonly  wasting,  breaking,  pulling  down, 
and  tearing  up:  nothing  quiet,  nothing  pri- 
vate :  men  every  where — above,  below,  over- 
head, in  the  bedrooms,  in  the  kitchen,  in  the 
yard,  in  the  stables— clambering  in  at  win- 
dows when  there  were  doors  wide  open  ;  drop- 
ping out  of  windows  when  the  stairs  were 


handy  ;  leaping  over  the  banisters  into  chasms 
of  passages:  new  faces  and  figures  presenting 
themselves  every  instant — some  yelling,  some 
singing,  some  fighting,  some  breaking  glass 
and  crockery,  some  laymg  the  dust  with  the 
liquor  they  couldn't  drink,  some  ringing  the 
bells  till  they  pulled  them  down,  others  beat- 
ing them  with  pokers  till  they  beat  them  into 
fragments  :  more  men  still — more,  more,  more, 
—  swarming  on  like  insects:  noise,  smoke, 
light,  darkness,  frolic,  anger,  laughter,  groans, 
plunder,  fear,  and  ruin! 

Nearly  all  the  time  while  .John  looked  on 
at  this  bewildering  scene,  Hugh  kept  near 
him  ;  and  though  he  was  the  loudest,  wildest, 
most  destructive  villain  there,  he  saved  his 
old  master's  bones  a  score  of  times.  Nay, 
even  when  Mr.  Tappertit,  excited  by  liquor, 
came  up,  and  in  assertion  of  his  prerogative 
politely  kicked  John  Willet  on  the  shins, 
Hugh  bade  him  return  the  compliment;  and 
if  old  John  had  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  understand  this  whispered  direction,  and  to 
profit  by  it,  he  might  no  doubt,  under  Hugh's 
protection,  have  done  so  with  impunity. 

At  length  the  band  began  to  reassemble 
outside  the  house,  and  to  call  to  those  within, 
to  join  them,  for  they  were  losing  time. 
These  murmurs  increasing,  and  attaining  a 
very  high  pitch,  Hugh,  and  some  of  those  who 
yet  lingered  in  the  bar,  and  who  plainly  were 
the  leaders  of  the  troop,  took  counsel  toircther 
apart  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  with  John,  to 
keep  him  quiet  until  their  Chigwell  work  was 
over.  Some  proposed  to  set  the  house  on  fire 
and  leave  him  in  it;  others  tliat  he  should  be 
reduced  to  a  state  of  temporary  insensibility, 
by  knocking  on  the  head;  others  that  he 
should  be  sworn  to  sit  where  he  was  until  to- 
morrow at  the  same  hour;  others  pgain  that 
he  should  be  gagged  and  taken  off  with  them, 
under  a  sufficient  guard.  All  these  proposi- 
tions being  overruled,  it  was  concluded,  at 
last,  to  bind  him  in  his  chair,  and  the  word 
was  passed  for  Dennis. 

"Look'ee  here,  Jack!"  said  Hugh,  striding 
up  to  him:  "We're  going  to  tie  you,  hand 
and  foot,  but  otherwise  you  won't  be  hurt. 
D'ye  hear?" 

John  Willet  looked  at  anotlier  man,  as  if 
he  did  n't  know  which  was  the  speaker,  and 
muttered  something  about  an  ordinary  every 
Sunday  at  two  o'clock. 

"  You  won't  be  hurt  I  tell  you,  .Tack—  do 
you  hear  me?"  roared  Hugh,  impressmg  tho 
assurance  upon  him  by  means  of  a  heavy  blow 
on  the  back.  "He's  so  dead  scared,  he  n 
wool-gathering,  I  think.  Ha  ha  !  Give  him  a 
drop  of  something  to  drink  here.  Hand  over, 
one  of  you." 

A  glass  of  liquor  being  pa.ssed  forward, 
Hugh  poured  the  contents  down  old  John's 
throat.  Mr,  Willet  feebly  smacked  his  lips, 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  inquired 
what  was  to  pay ;  adding,  as  he  looked  vacant- 
ly round,  that  he  believed  there  was  a  trifio 
of  broken  glass  — 


226 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  He's  out  of  his  senses  for  the  time,  it's  my 
belief,"  said  Huf^h,  after  shakino-  him,  without 
any  visible  effect  upon  liis  system,  until  his 
keys  rattled  in  his  pocket.  "  Where's  that 
Dennis  1" 

The  word  was  again  passed,  and  presently 
Mr.  Dennis,  with  a  long  cord  bound  about  his 
middle,  somethino^  after  the  manner  of  a  friar, 
came  hurrying  in,  attended  by  a  body-guard 
of  halfa-dozen  of  his  men. 

"Coine!  Be  alive  here!"  cried  Hiio-h, 
stamping  his  foot  upon  the  ground.  "Make 
haste !" 

Dennis,  with  a  wink  and  a  nod,  unwound 
the  cord  from  about  his  person,  and  raising  his 
eyes  to  the  ceiling,  looked  all  over  it,  and 
round  the  walls  and  cornice,  with  a  curious 
eye  ;  then  shook  his  head. 

"  Move  man,  can't  you  !"  cried  Hugh,  with 
another  impatient  stamp  of  his  foot,  "Are 
we  to  wail  here  till  the  cry  has  gone  for  ten 
miles  round,  and  our  work's  interrupted!" 

"It's  all  very  line  talking,  brother,"  an- 
swered Dennis,  stepping  towards  him;  "but 
unless — "  and  here  he  whispered  in  his  ear 
—  "  unless  we  do  it  over  the  door,  it  can't  be 
done  at  all  in  this  here  room." 

"  What  can't !"  Hugh  demanded. 

"What  can't !"  retorted  Dennis.  "Why,  the 
old  man  can't." 

"  Why,  you  weren't  going  to  hang  him  ]" 
cried  Hugh. 

"No,  brother!"  returned  the  hangman, 
with  a  stare.     "  What  else  V 

Hugh  made  no  answer,  but  snatching  the 
rope  from  his  companion's  hand,  proceeded  to 
bind  old  John  himself;  but  his  very  first  move 
was  so  bungling  and  unskilful,  that  Mr.  Den- 
nis entreated,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 


that  he  might  be  permitted  to  perform  the 
duty.  Hugh  consenting,  he  achieved  it  in  a 
twinkling. 

"There!"  he  said,  looking  mournfully  at 
.John  Willet,  who  displayed  no  more  emotion 
in  his  bonds  than  he  had  shown  out  of  them. 
"  That's  what  I  call  pretty,  and  workmanlike. 
He's  quite  a  picter  now.  But,  brother,  just  a 
word  with  you  —  now  that  he 's  ready  trussed, 
as  one  may  say,  wouldn't  it  be  better  for  all 
parties  if  we  wis  to  work  him  oft"!  It  would 
read  uncommon  well  in  the  newspapers,  it 
would  indeed.  The  public  would  tiiink  a 
great  deal  more  on  us !" 

Hugh,  inferring  what  his  companion  meant, 
rather  from  his  gestures  than  his  technical 
mode  of  expressing  himself  (to  which,  as  he 
was  ignorant  of  his  calling,  he  wanted  the 
clue),  rejected  tliis  proposition  for  the  second 
time,  and  gave  the  word  "Forward  !"  which 
was  echoed  by  a  hundred  voices  from  with- 
out. 

"To  the  Warren!"  shouted  Dermis  as  he 
ran  out,  tbllovved  by  the  rest.  "A  witness's 
house,  my  lads !". 

A  loud  yell  followed,  and  the  whole  tlirong 
hurried  off,  mad  for  pillage  and  deslruction. 
Hugh  lingered  behind  for  a  few  moments  to 
stimulate  himself  with  more  drink,  and  to  set 
all  the  taps  running,  a  few  of  which  had  acci- 
dentally bpen  spared  ;  then  glancing  round 
the  despoiled  and  plundered  room,  through 
whose  shattered  window  the  rioters  had  thrust 
the  Maypole  itself,  —  for  even  that  had  been 
sawn  down,  —  lighted  a  torch;  clapped  the 
mute  and  motionless  John  Willet  on  the  back; 
and  waving  it  above  his  head,  and  uttering  a 
fierce  shout,  hastened  after  his  companions. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-FIFTH. 


John  Willet,  left  alone  in  his  dismantled  I 
bar,  continued  to  sit  staring  about  him  ;  awake 
as  to  his  eyes,  certainly,  but  w^.n  all  his  pow-  ' 
ers  of  reason  and  reflection  m  a  sound  and  ' 
dreamless  sleep.     He  looked  round  upon  the  ' 
room    which   had    been   for   years,   and  was 
within  an  hour  ago,  the  pride  of  his  heart ; 
and  not  a  muscle   of  his  face   was  moved.  ■ 
The   night  without    looked    black   and    cold  ; 
through  the  dreary  gaps  in  the  casement;  the 
precious   liquids,   now   nearly  leaked   away,  ' 
dripped  with  a  hollow  sound  upon  the  floor; 
the  Maypole  peered  ruefully  in  through  the 
broken  window  like  the  bowsprit  of  a  wreck- 
ed  ship;  the   ground    might  have  been  the 
bottom  of  the  sea,  it  was  so  strewn  with  pre- 
cious frnguients.     Currents  of  air  rushed   in 
as  the  old  doors  jarred  ami  creaked  upon  their 
hmges ;  the  candles  flickered  and   guttered 
Jown,   «ind   made   long    winding-sheets;  the 


cheery  deep-red  curtains  flapped  and  fettered 
idly  in  the  road;  even  the  stout  Dutch  kegs, 
overthrown  and  lying  empty  in  durk  corners, 
seemed  the  mere  husks  of  good  fellows  whose 
jiillity  had  departed,  and  who  could  kindle 
with  a  friendly  glow  no  more.  John  saw  this 
desolation,  and  yet  saw  it  not.  He  was  per- 
fectly contented  to  sit  there  staring  at  it,  and 
felt  no  more  indignation  or  discomfort  in  his 
bonds  than  if  they  had  been  robes  of  honour. 
So  far  as  he  was  personally  concerned,  old 
Time  lay  snoring,  and  the  world  stood  still. 

Save  for  tiie  dripping  from  the  barrels,  the 
rustling  of  such  light  fragments  of  destruc- 
tion as  the  wind  efl"ected,  and  the  dull  creak- 
ing of  the  open  doors,  all  was  profoundly 
quiet;  indeed  these  sounds,  like  the  tickino 
of  the  death-watch  in  the  night,  only  made 
the  silence  they  invaded  deeper  and  more  ap» 
parent.     But  quiet  or  noisy  it  was  ail  one  lo 


■'"■i;/,< 


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^/z&^'Cl^^^?2i:Je^  en/t-// //,/  /o// m    7/////'/!h  O//^/   z/^/ 


^O. . 


,fe 


4; 


b^jRL 


■-J  'J/-T1 


\^:•■ 


si\! 


4^-    m/}/'  ra'>i  V 


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/a;////////  //'////    //////'/.; 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


227 


John.  If  a  train  of  heavy  artillery  could 
have  come  up  and  commenced  ball-practice 
outside  the  window,  it  would  have  been  all 
the  same  tc  him.  lie  was  a  long  way  beyond 
eurpnsc.  A  ghost  couldn't  have  overtaken 
him. 

By  and  by  he  hoard  a  footstep  —  a  hurried 
and  yet  cautious  footstep — coming  on  towards 
tlie  iionse.  It  stopped,  advanced  again,  then 
seemed  to  go  quite  round  it.  Having  done 
that,  it  came  beneath  the  window,  and  a  head 
looked  in. 

It  was  strongly  relieved  against  the  dark- 
ness outside  by  the  glare  of  the  guttering 
candles.  A  pale,  worn,  withered  face;  the 
eyes — but  that  was  owing  to  its  gaunt  con- 
dition—  unnaturally  large  and  bright;  the 
hair  a  grizzled  black.  It  gave  a  searching 
glance  all  round  the  room,  and  a  deep  voice 
said : 

"  Are  you  alone  in  this  house  1" 

.John  made  no  sign,  though  the  question  was 
repeated  twice,  and  he  heard  it  distinctly. 
After  a  moment's  pause,  the  man  got  in  at  the 
window.  John  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  this 
either.  There  had  been  so  much  getting  in 
and  out  of  window  in  the  course  of  the  last 
hour  or  so,  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  the 
door,  and  seemed  to  have  lived  among  such 
exercises  from  infancy. 

The  man  wore  a  large  dark  faded  cloak, 
and  a  slouched  hat;  he  walked  up  close  to 
John,  and  looked  at  him.  John  returned  the 
compliment  with  interest. 

"How  long  have  you  been  sitting  thus]" 
said  the  man. 

John  considered,  but  nothing  came  of  it. 

"  Which  way  have  the  party  gone"!" 

Some  wandering  speculations  relative  to 
the  fa,-hion  of  the  stranger's  boots  got  into 
Mr.  Willet's  mind  by  some  accident  or  other, 
but  they  got  out  again  in  a  hurry,  and  left 
him  in  iiis  former  state. 

"  You  would  do  well  to  speak,"  said  the 
man,  "you  may  keep  a  whole  skin  though 
you  have  nothing  else  left  that  can  be  hurt. 
Which  way  have  the  party  gone  ?" 

"That !"  said  John,  finding  his  voice  all  at 
once,  and  nodding  with  perfect  good  faith  — 
he  couldn't  point  he  was  so  tightly  bound — in 
exactly  the  opposite  direction  to  the  right  one. 

"  You  lie !"  said  the  man  angrily,  and  with 
a  threatening  gesture.  "I  came  that  way. 
You  would  betray  me." 

It  was  so  evident  that  John's  imperturba- 
bility was  not  assumed,  but  was  thn  result  of 
the  late  proceedings  under  his  roof,  that  the 
man  stayed  his  hand  in  the  very  act  of  striking 
him,  and  turned  away. 

John  looked  after  him  without  so  much  as 
a  twitch  in  a  single  nerve  of  his  face.  He 
seized  a  glass,  and  holding  it  under  one  of  the 
little  casks  until  a  few  drops  were  collected, 
drank  them  greedily  oif;  then  dashing  it  down 
upon  the  floor  impatiently,  he  took  the  vessel 
in  his  hands  and  drained  it  into  his  throat. 
8ome  scraps  of  bread  and  meat  were  scatter- 


ed about,  and  on  these  he  fell  next,  eating 
them  with  great  voracity,  and  pausing  every 
now  and  then  to  listen  for  some  fancied  noise 
outside.  When  he  had  refreshed  himself  in 
this  manner  with  violent  haste,  and  raised  an- 
other barrel  to  his  lips,  he  pulled  his  hat  upon 
liis  brow  as  though  he  were  about  to  leave  the 
house,  and  turned  to  John. 

"Where  are  your  servants?" 

Mr.  Willet  indistinctly  remembered  to  have 
heard  the  rioters  calling  to  them  to  throw  the 
key  of  the  room  in  which  they  were  out  of 
window  for  their  keeping.  He  therefore  re- 
plied, "  Locked  up." 

"  Well  for  them  if  they  remain  quiet,  and 
well  for  you  if  you  do  the  like,"  said  the  man. 
"  Now  show  me  the  way  the  party  went." 

This  time  Mr.  Willet  indicated  it  correctly. 
The  man  was  hurrying  to  the  door,  when  sud- 
denly there  came  towards  them  on  the  wind, 
the  loud  and  rapid  tolling  of  an  alarm  bell, 
and  then  a  bright  and  vivid  glare  streamed 
up,  which  illumined,  not  only  the  wliole  cham- 
ber, but  all  the  country. 

It  was  not  the  sudden  change  from  dark- 
ness to  this  dreadful  light,  it  was  not  the 
sound  of  distant  shrieks  and  shouts  of  triumph, 
it  was  not  this  dread  invasion  of  the  serenity 
and  peace  of  night,  that  drove  the  man  back 
as  though  a  thunderbolt  had  struck  him.  It 
was  the  bell.  If  the  ghastliest  shape  the 
human  mind  has  ever  pictured  in  its  wildest 
dreams  had  risen  up  before  him,  he  could  not 
have  staggered  backward  from  its  touch  as  he 
did  from  the  first  sound  of  that  loud  iron 
voice.  With  eyes  that  started  from  his  head, 
his  limbs  convulsed,  his  face  most  horrible  to 
see,  he  raised  one  arm  high  up  into  the  air, 
and  holding  something  visionary  back  and 
down  with  his  other  hand,  drove  at  it  as 
though  he  held  a  knife  and  stabbed  it  to  the 
heart.  He  clutched  his  hair,  and  stopped  his 
ears,  and  travelled  madly  round  and  round; 
then  gave  a  frightful  cry,  and  with  it  rushed 
away:  still,  still  the  bell  tolled  on  and  seem- 
ed to  follow  him  —  louder  and  louder,  hotter 
and  hotter  yet.  The  glare  grew  brighter, 
the  roar  of  voices  deeper,  the  crash  of  heavy 
bodies  falling  shook  the  air,  bright  streams  of 
sparks  rose  up  into  the  sky;  hut  louder  than 
them  all — rising  faster  far  to  Heaven— a  mil- 
lion times  more  fierce  and  furious,  pouring 
forth  dreadful  secrets  after  its  long  silence — 
speaking  the  language  of  the  dead — the  bell 
—the  bell ! 

What  hunt  of  spectres  could  surpass  that 
dread  pursuit  and  flight!  Had  there  been  a 
legion  of  them  on  his  back,  he  could  have 
better  borne  it.  They  would  have  had  a  be- 
ginning and  an  end,  but  here  all  space  waa 
full — the  one  pursuing  voice  was  everywhere ; 
it  sounded  in  the  earth,  the  air;  shook  ♦he 
long  grass,  and  howled  among  the  trembling 
trees.  The  echoes  caught  it  up,  the  ow/s 
hooted  as  it  flew  upon  the  breeze,  the  nightin- 
gale was  silent  and  hid  herself  among  the 
thickest  boughs — it  seemed  to  goad  and  urge 


228 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


the  anjrry  fire,  and  lash  it  into  madness. 
Everything  was  steeped  in  one  prevailing- 
red;  the  glow  was  everywhere;  nature  was 
drenched  in  blood ;  still  the  remorseless  cry- 
ing of  that  awful  voice — the  bell,  the  bell ! 

It  ceased ;  but  not  in  his  ears.  The  knell 
was  at  his  heart;  no  work  of  man  had  ever 
voice  like  that  which  sounded  there,  and 
warned  him  that  it  cried  unceasingly  to  Hea- 
ven. Who  could  hear  that  bell  and  not  know 
what  it  said  !  There  was  murder  in  its  every 
note — cruel,  relentless,  savage  murder  —  the 
murder  of  a  confiding  man  by  one  who  held 
his  every  trust.  Its  ringing-  summoned  phan- 
toms from  their  graves.  What  face  was  that, 
in  which  a  friendly  smile  changed  to  a  look 
of  half  incredulous  horror,  which  stiffened  for 
a  moment  into  one  of  pain,  then  changed 
again  into  an  imploring  glance  at  Heaven, 
and  so  fell  idly  down  with  upturned  eyes,  like 
the  dead  stags  he  had  often  peeped  at  when  a 
little  child:  shrinking  and  shuddering — there 
was  a  dreadful  thing  to  think  of  now  !  —  and 
clinging  to  an  apron  as  he  locked  !  He  sank 
down  upon  the  ground,  and  grovelling  down 
as  if  he  would  dig  himself  a  place  to  hide  in, 
covered  his  fiice  and  ears,  but  no,  no,  no  —  a 
hundred  walls  and  roofs  of  brass  would  not 
shut  out  that  bell,  for  in  it  spoke  the  wrathful 
voice  of  God,  and  from  that  the  whole  wide 
universe  could  not  afford  a  refuge  ! 

While  he  rushed  up  and  down  not  knowing 
where  to  turn,  and  while  he  lay  crouching 
there,  the  work  went  briskly  on  indeed. 
When  they  left  the  Maypole,  the  rioters  form- 
ed into  a  solid  body,  and  advanced  at  a  quick 
pace  to  the  Warren.  Rumour  of  their  ap- 
proach having  gone  before,  they  found  the 
garden  doors  fast  closed,  the  windows  made 
secure,  and  the  house  profoundly  dark:  not  a 
light  being  visible  in  any  portion  of  the  build- 
ing. After  some  fruitless  ringing  at  the  bells, 
and  beating  at  the  iron  gates,  they  drew  ofi^a 
few  paces  to  reconnoitre,  and  confer  upon  the 
course  it  would  be  best  to  take. 

Very  little  conference  was  needed,  when 
all  were  bent  upon  one  desperate  purpose, 
infuriated  with  liquor,  and  flushed  with  suc- 
cessful riot.  The  word  being  given  to  sur- 
round the  house,  some  climbed  the  gates,  or 
dropped  into  the  shallow  trench  and  scaled 
the  garden  wall,  while  others  pulled  down  the 
solid  iron  fence,  and  while  they  made  a  breach 
to  enter  by,  made  deadly  weapons  of  the  bars. 
The  house  being  completely  encircled,  a 
small  number  of  men  were  despatched  to 
break  open  a  tool-shed  in  the  garden,  and 
during  their  absence  on  this  errand,  the  re- 
mainder contented  themselves  with  knocking 
violently  at  the  doors  and  calling  to  those 
within,  to  come  down  and  open  them  on  peril 
of  their  lives, 

No  answer  bemg  returned  to  this  repeated 
summons,  and  the  detachment  who  had  been 
sent  away,  coming  back  with  an  accession  of 
pickaxes,  spades,  and  hoes,  they  together  with 
those  who  had  such  arms  already,  or  carried 


(as  many  did)  axes,  poles,  and  crow-bars, 
struggled  into  the  foremost  rank,  ready  to 
beset  the  doors  and  windows.  They  had  not 
at  this  time  more  than  a  dozen  lighted  torches 
among  them,  but  when  these  preparationa 
were  completed,  flaming  links  were  distri- 
buted and  passed  from  hand  to  hand  with  such 
rapidity,  that  in  a  minute's  time  at  least  two- 
thirds  of  the  whole  roaring  mass,  bore,  each 
man  in  his  hand,  a  blazing  brand.  Whirling 
these  about  their  heads  they  raised  a  louJ 
shout,  and  fell  to  work  upon  the  doors  and 
windows. 

Amidst  the  clattering  of  heavy  blows,  the 
rattlmg  of  broken  glass,  the  cries  and  execra- 
tions of  the  mob,  and  all  the  din  and  turmoil 
of  the  scene,  Hugh  and  his  friends  kept 
together  at  the  turret  door  where  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  had  last  admitted  him  and  old  John 
Willet ;  and  spent  their  united  force  on  that. 
It  was  a  strong  old  oaken  door,  guarded  by 
good  bolts  and  a  heavy  bar,  but  it  soon  went 
crashing  in  upon  the  narrow  stairs  behind, 
and  made,  as  it  were,  a  platform  to  facilitate 
their  tearing  up  into  the  rooms  above.  Al- 
most at  the  same  moment,  a  dozen  other  points 
were  forced,  and  at  every  one  the  crowd 
poured  in  like  water. 

A  few  armed  servant-men  vi'ere  posted  in 
the  hall,  and  when  the  rioters  forced  an  en- 
trance there,  they  fired  some  half-a-doz^n 
shots.  But  these  taking  no  efect,  and  the 
concourse  coming  on  like  an  army  of  devils, 
they  only  thought  of  consulting  their  own 
safety,  and  retreated,  echoing  their  assailants' 
cries,  and  hoping  in  the  confusion  to  b^'  taken 
for  rioters  themselves,  in  which  stratagem 
they  succeeded,  with  the  exception  of  one  old 
man  who  was  never  heard  of  again,  and  waa 
said  to  have  had  his  brains  beaten  out  with  an 
iron  bar  (one  of  his  fellows  reported  that  he 
had  seen  the  old  man  fall)  and  to  have  been 
afterwards  burnt  in  the  flames. 

The  besiegers  being  now  in  complete  pos- 
session of  the  house,  spread  themselves  over 
it  from  garret  to  cellar,  and  plied  their  demon 
labours  fiercely.  While  some  small  parties 
kindled  bonfires  underneath  the  windows, 
others  broke  up  the  furniture  and  cast  the 
fragments  down  to  feed  the  flames  below ; 
where  the  apertures  in  the  wall  (windows  no 
longer)  were  large  enough,  they  hurled  out 
tables,  chests  of  drawers,  beds,  mirrors,  pic- 
tures, and  flung  them  whole  into  the  fire; 
while  every  fresh  addition  to  the  blazing 
masses  was  received  with  shouts,  and  howls, 
and  yells,  which  added  new  and  dismal  ter- 
rors to  the  conflagration.  Those  who  had 
axes  and  had  spent  their  fury  on  the  move- 
ables, chopped  and  tore  down  the  doors  and 
window  frames,  broke  up  the  flooring,  hewed 
away  the  rafters,  and  buried  men  who  linger- 
ed in  the  upper  rooms,  in  heaps  of  ruins. 
Some  searched  the  drawers,  the  chests,  the 
boxes,  writing-desks,  and  closets,  for  jewels, 
plate,  and  money  ;  while  others,  less  mindful 
of  gain  and  more  mad  for  destruction,  cast 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


229 


tlieir  whole  contents  into  the  court-yard  with- 
out exaniindlion,  and  called  to  those  below  to 
heap  them  on  the  blaze.  Men  wiio  had  been 
into  the  cellars,  and  had  staved  the  casks, 
rushed  to  and  fro  stark  mad,  setting  fire  to  all 
they  saw — often  to  the  dresses  of  their  own 
friends  —  and  kindling  the  building  in  so 
many  parts  that  some  had  no  time  for  escape, 
and  were  seen  with  drooping  hands  and 
blackened  faces  hanging  senseless  on  the  win- 
dow-sills, to  which  they  had  crawled,  until 
they  were  sucked  and  drawn  into  the  burning 
gulf.  The  more  the  fire  crackled  and  raged, 
the  wilder  and  more  cruel  the  men  grew ;  as 
though  moving  in  that  element  they  became 
fiends,  and  changed  their  earthly  nature  for 
the  qualities  that  give  delight  in  hell. 

The  burning  pile  revealing  rooms  and  pas- 
sages red  hot,  through  gaps  made  in  the 
crumbling  walls;  the  tributary  fires  that  lick- 
ed the  outer  bricks  and  stones,  with  their  long 
forked  tonguct--,  and  ran  up  to  meet  the  glow- 
ing mass  within  ;  the  shining  of  the  flames  upon 
the  villains  who  looked  on  and  fed  them  ;  the 
roaring  of  the  angry  blaze,  so  bright  and  high 
that  it  seemed  in  its  rapacity  to  have  swallow- 
ed up  the  very  smoke;  the  living  flakes  the 
wind  bore  rapidly  away  and  hurried  on  with, 
like  a  storm  of  fiery  snow ;  the  noiseless 
breaking  of  great  beams  of  wood  which  fell 
like  feathers  on  the  heap  of  ashes,  and  crum- 
bled in  the  very  act  to  sparks  and  powder; 
the  lurid  tinge  that  overspread  the  sky ;  and 
the  darkness,  very  deep  by  contrast,  which 
prevailed  around  ;  the  exposure  to  the  coarse, 
common  gaze,  of  every  little  nook  which 
usages  of  home  had  made  a  sacred  place,  and 
the  destruction  by  rude  hands  of  every  little 
household  favourite  which  old  associations 
made  a  dear  and  precious  thing — all  this  tak- 
ing place;  not  among  pitying  looks  and 
friendly  murmurs  of  compassion,  but  brutal 
shouts  and  exultations,  which  seemed  to  make 
the  very  rats  who  stood  by  the  old  house  too 
long,  creatures  with  some  claim  upon  the  pity 
and  regard  of  those  its  roof  had  sheltered — 
combined  to  form  a  scene  never  to  be  forgot- 
ten by  those  who  saw  it  and  were  not  actors 
in  the  work,  so  long  as  life  endured. 

And  who  were  they  1  The  alarm-bell  rang 
—  and  it  was  pulled  by  no  faint  or  hesitating 
hands — for  a  long  time ;  but  not  a  soul  was 
seen.  Some  of  the  insurgents  said  that  when 
it  ceased,  they  heard  the  shrieks  of  women,  and 
saw  some  garments  fluttering  in  the  air,  as  a 
party  of  men  bore  away  no  unresisting  bur- 
dens. No  one  could  say  that  this  was  true  or 
false,  in  such  an  uproar,  but  where  was  Hugh  ] 
who  among  them  had  seen  him,  since  the 
forcing  of  the  doors'!  The  cry  spread  through 
the  body — Where  was  Hughl 

"  Here  !"  he  hoarsely  cried,  appearing  from 
the  darkness ;  out  of  breath,  and  blackened 
15 


with  the  smoke.  "  We  have  done  all  we  can, 
the  fire  is  burning  itself  out;  and  even  tho 
corners  where  it  hasn't  spread,  are  nothing 
but  heaps  of  ruins.  Disperse  my  lads,  while 
the  coast's  clear;  get  back  by  dilii'rent  vvmvs: 
and  meet  as  usual!"  With  that  he  diL^ap- 
pcarcd  again, —  contrary  to  his  wont,  for  he 
was  always  first  to  advance,  and  last  to  go 
away — leaving  them  to  follow  homewards  as 
they  would. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  draw  off  such  a 
throng.  If  Bedlam  gates  had  been  flung  open 
wide,  there  would  not  have  is.^ued  forth  such 
maniacs  as  the  frenzy  of  that  night  had  made. 
There  were  men  there  who  danced  and  tram- 
pled on  the  beds  of  flowers  as  though  they 
trod  down  human  enemies;  and  wrenched 
them  from  the  stalks,  like  savages  who  twist- 
ed human  necks.  There  were  men  who  rush- 
ed up  to  the  fire  and  paddled  in  it  with  their 
hands  as  if  in  water;  and  others  who  were 
restrained  by  force  from  plunging  in  it  to 
gratify  their  deadly  longing.  On  the  skull  of 
one  drunken  lad  —  not  twenty,  by  his  looks  — 
who  lay  upon  the  ground  with  a  bottle  to  his 
mouth,  the  lead  from  the  roof  came  streaming 
down  in  a  shower  of  liquid  fire,  white  hot  — 
melting  his  head  like  wax.  When  the  scat- 
tered parties  were  collected,  men, — living 
yet,  but  singed  as  with  hot  irons,  were  pluck- 
ed out  of  the  cellars,  and  carried  off'  upon  the 
shoulders  of  others,  who  strove  to  wake  them 
as  they  went  along,  with  ribald  jokes,  and 
left  them  dead  in  the  passages  of  hospitals. 
But  of  all  the  howling  throng  not  one  learnt 
mercy  from,  or  sickened  at  these  sights  ;  nor 
was  the  fierce,  besotted,  senseless  rage  of  one 
man  glutted. 

Slowly,  and  in  small  clusters,  with  hoarse 
hurrahs  and  repetitions  of  their  usual  cry,  the 
assembly  dropped  away.  The  last  few  red- 
eyed  stragglers  reeled  after  those  who  had 
gone  befoie  ;  the  distant  noise  of  men  calling 
I  to  each  other,  and  whistling  for  others  whom 
i  they  missed,  grew  fainter  and  fainter ;  it 
:  length  even  ihese  sounds  died  away,  ana  si- 
lence reigned  alone. 

Silence  indeed  !  The  glare  of  the  flaiues 
had  sunk  into  a  fitful  flashing  ligiit,  and  the 
gentle  stars,  invisible  till  now,  looked  down 
upon  the  blackening.  A  dull  sn\oke  hung 
upon  the  ruin,  as  though  to  hide  it  from  those 
eyes  of  Heaven;  and  the  wind  forbore  to 
move  it.  Bare  walls,  roof  open  to  the  sky  — 
chambers  where  the  beloved,  lately  dead,  had 
many  and  many  a  fair  day  risen  to  new  life 
and  energy — where  so  many  dear  ones  had 
been  sad  and  merry;  which  were  connected 
with  so  many  thoughts  and  hopes,  regrets  and 
changes  —  all  gone  —  nothing  left  but  a  dull 
and  dreary  blank  —  a  smouldering  heap  o*' 
dust  and  ashes  —  the  silence  and  solitude  of 
utter  desolation. 


23C 


BARNABY    RUDGE 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-SIXTH, 

The  Maypole  cronies  little  dreaminpf  of 
the  change  so  soon  to  come  upon  their  favour- 
ite haunt,  strucii  through  the  Forest  path 
upon  their  way  to  London:  and  avoiding-  the 
main  road  which  was  hot  and  dusty,  kept  to 
the  bye  paths  and  the  fiwlds.  As  ttiey  drew 
nearer  to  their  destination,  they  began  to 
make  inquiries  of  the  people  whom  they  pass- 
ed, concerning  the  riots,  and  the  truth  or 
falsehood  of  tiie  stories  they  had  heard.  The 
answers  went  far  beyond  any  intelligence  tiiat 
had  spread  to  quiet  Chigwell.  One  man  told 
them  tliat  that  afternoon  the  Guards,  convey- 
ing to  Newgate  some  rioters  who  had  been 
re-examined,  had  been  set  upon  by  the  mob 
and  compelled  to  retreat;  anolher,  that  the 
nouses  of  two  witnesses  near  Clare  Market 
were  about  to  be  pulled  down  when  he  came 
away ;  anolher,  that  Sir  George  Saville's 
house  in  Leicester  Fields  was  to  be  burned 
that  nigiit,  and  ttiat  it  would  go  hard  with  Sir 
George  if  he  fell  into  the  people's  hands,  as  it 
was  he  who  had  brought  in  the  Catholic  bill. 
AH  accounts  agreed,  that  the  mob  were  out, 
in  stronger  numbers  and  more  numerous  par- 
ties than  had  yet  appeared  ;  that  the  streets 
were  unsafe;  that  no  man's  house  or  life  was 
worth  an  hour's  purchase;  that  the  public 
consternation  was  increasing  every  moment; 
and  that  many  families  had  already  fled  the 
city.  One  feJlow  who  wore  the  popular 
colour,  damned  them  for  not  having  cockades 
in  their  hats,  and  bade  them  set  a  good  watch 
to-morrow-night  upon  the  prison  doors,  for  the 
locks,  would  have  a  straining;  another  asked 
if  they  were  fire-proof,  that  they  walked 
abroad  v/ithout  the  distinguishing  mark  of  all 
good  and  true  men;  and  a  third  who  rode  on 
horseback,  and  was  quite  alone,  ordered  them 
to  throw,  each  man  a  sliilling,  in  his  hat,  to- 
wards the  support  of  the  rioters.  Although 
they  were  afraid  to  refuse  compliance  with 
tills  demand,  and  were  much  alarmed  by  these 
reports,  they  agreed,  having  come  so  tar  to  go 
forward,  and  see  the  real  state  of  things  with 
their  own  eyes.  So  they  pushed  on  quicker, 
as  men  do  who  are  excited  by  portentous 
news,  and  ruminating  on  what  they  had 
heard,  spoke  little  to  each  other. 

It  was  now  night,  and  as  they  came  nearer 
to  the  city  they  had  dismal  confirmation  of 
this  intelligence  in  three  great  fires  all  close 
together,  which  burnt  fiercely  and  were 
gloomily  reflected  in  the  sky.  Arriving  in 
the  immediate  suburbs,  they  found  that  almost 
every  house  bad  chalked  upon  its  door  in 
large  characters  "  No  Popery,"  that  the  shops 
were  shut,  and  that  alarm  and  anxiety  were 
depicted  in  every  face  they  passed. 

Noting  these  things  with  a  degree  of  ap- 
prehension which  neither  of  the  three  cared 
to  impart  in  its  full  extent  to  his  companions, 
they  came  to  a  turnpike  gale,  which  was 
shut,  Tiiey  were  passing  through  the  turn- 
stile on  the  path,  when  a  horseman   rode  np 


The  adjuration  was  so  earnest  and  vehe 
ment,  that  the  man  with  a  lantern  in  his  hand 
came  running  out,  toll-keeper  though  he  was, 
and  was  about  to  throw  the  gate  open,  when 
happening  to  look  behind  him,  he  exclaimed, 
"Good  Heaven  what's  that!  another  Fire  1 

At  this,  the  three  turned  their  heads,  and 
saw  in  the  distance  straight  in  the  direction 
whence  they  had  come,  a  broad  sheet  of  flame, 
casting  a  threatening  light  upon  the  clouds, 
which  glitnmered  as  though  the  conflagration 
were  behind  tliem,  and  showed  like  a  wrath- 
ful sunset. 

"My  mind  misgives  me,"  said  the  horse- 
man, "that  I  know  from  what  far  building 
those  flames  come.  Don't  stand  aghast  my 
good  fellow,  open  the  gate  !" 

"Sir,"  cried  the  man,  laying  his  hand  upon 
his  horse's  bridle  as  he  let  him  through.  "  I 
know  you  now  sir,  be  advised  by  me — do  not 
go  on.  I  saw  them  pass  and  know  what  kind 
of  men  they  are.     You  will  be  murdered." 

"  So  be  it  !"feaid  the  horseman,  looking  intent- 
ly towards  the  fire,  and  not  at  him  who  spoke. 

"  But  Sir — Sir,"  cried  the  man,  grasping  at 
his  rein  more  tii^htly  yet,  "  if  you  do  go  on, 
wear  the  blue  riband.  Here  Sir,"  he  added, 
taking  one  from  his  own  hat,  and  speaking  so 
earnestly  that  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  "It  'a 
necessity  not  choice,  that  makes  me  wear  it, 
— it's  love  of  life  and  home  Sir.  Wear  it 
for  ti)is  one  night  Sir ;  only  for  lliis  one  night." 

"Do!"  cried  the  three  friends  pressing 
round  his  horse.  "Mr.  Haredale  —  worthy 
Sir — good  gentleman — pray  be  persuaded." 

"VVho's  that?"  cried  Mr.  Haredale  stoop- 
ing down  to  look,  "  Did  I  hear  Daisy's  voice  !" 

"You  did  Sir,"  cried  the  little  man,  "Do 
be  persuaded  Sir.  This  gentleman  says  very 
true.     Your  lif«  may  hang  upon  it." 

"Are  you,"  said  Mr.  Haredale  abruptly, 
"afraid  to  come  with  me?" 

"I  Sir  ?— N-n-no." 

"  Put  that  riband  in  your  hat.  If  we  meet 
the  rioters,  swear  that  I  took  you  prisoner  for 
wearing  it.  I  will  tell  them  so  with  my  own 
lips;  for  as  I  hope  for  mercy  when  I  die,  I 
will  take  no  quarter  from  them,  nor  shall  they 
have  quarter  from  me,  if  we  come  hand 
to  hand  to-night.  Up  here — behind  me — 
quick  !  Clas-p  me  tight  round  the  body,  and 
fear  nothing.' 

In  an  instant  they  were  riding  away  at  full 
gallop,  in  a  dense  cloud  of  dust  and  speeding 
on  like  hunters  in  a  dream. 

It  was  well  the  good  horse  knew  the  road 
he  traversed,  for  never  once,  no  never  once  in 
all  the  journey,  did  Mr.  Haredale  cast  his 
eyes  upon  the  ground,  or  turn  them  for  an 
instant,  from  the  light  towards  which  they 
sped  so  madly.  Once  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"  It  M  my  house,"  but  that  was  the  only  time 
he  spoke.  When  they  came  to  dark  and 
doubtful  places,  he  never  forgot  to  put  his 
hand  upon  the  little  man  to  hold  him  more 


iVom  London  at  a  hard  gallop,  and  called  to  I  securely  on  his  seat,  but  he  kept  head  erect 
•he  toll  keeper  in  a  voice  of  great  agitation,  |  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  then,  and 
jc*  onen  auicklv  in  th^  "     '"  -*''-M.  '  "' 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


231 


The  road  was  (]an<rcrous  enough,  for  they 
went  the  nearest  way — headlong — far  from 
the  highway,  —  by  lonely  lanes  and  paths, 
where  wagon  wheels  had  worn  deep  ruts; 
where  hedge  and  ditch  hemmed  in  the  narrow 
strip  of  ground  ;  and  tall  trees  arching  over- 
head, made  it  profoundly  dark.  But  on,  on, 
on,  with  neither  slop  nor  stumble,  till  they 
reached  the  Maypole  door,  and  could  plainly 
see  that  the  fire  began  to  fade,  as  if  for  want 
cf  fuel. 

••  Down  for  one  moment—  for  but  one  mo- 
ment," said  Mr.  Haredale,  helping  Daisy  to 
the  ground,  and  following  himself,  "  VViilet 
— VViilet  where  are  my  niece  and  servants — 
Willct !" 

Crying  out  to  him  distractedly,  he  rushed 
into  the  bar.  The  landlord  bound  and  fasten- 
ed to  his  chair  ;  the  place  dismantled,  stripped, 
and  pulled  about  his  ears; — nobody  could  have 
taken  shelter  here. 

He  was  a  strong  man,  accustomed  to  re- 
strain himself,  and  suppress  his  strong  emo- 
tions ;  but  this  preparation  for  what  was  to 
follow — though  he  had  seen  that  fire  burning, 
and  knew  that  his  house  must  be  razed  to  the 
ground — was  more  than  he  could  bear.  He 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands  tor  a  moment, 
and  turned  away  his  head. 

"Ji'hnny,  Johnny,"  said  Solomon — and  the 
simple-hearted  fellow  cried  outright,  and 
wrung  his  hands.  "Oh  dear,  old  Johnny, 
here 's  a  change  !  That  the  Maypole  bar 
should  come  to  this,  and  we  should  live  to  see 
it !  The  old  Warren  too,  Johnny — Mr.  Hare- 
dale — oh,  Johnny,  what  a  piteous  sight  this  is!" 

Pointing  to  Mr.  Haredale  as  he  said  these 
words,  little  Solomon  Daisy  put  his  elbows  on 
the  back  of  Mr.  VVillet's  chair,  and  fairly  blub- 
bered on  his  shoulder. 

While  Solomon  was  speaking,  old  John  sat, 
mute  as  a  stock-fish,  staring  at  him  with  an 
uneirliily  glare,  and  displaying,  by  every  pos- 
sible symptom,  entire  and  most  complete  un- 
consciiHisness.  But  when  Solomon  was  silent 
again,  John  followed  with  his  great  round 
eyes  the  direction  of  his  look,  and  did  appear 
to  have  some  dawning,  distant  notion  that 
somebody  had  come  to  see  him. 

"  Villi  know  us,  don't  you,  Johnny"?"  said 
the  little  clerk,  rapping  himself  on  the  breast, 
"Daisy  you  know — Chigwell  Church — bell- 
ringer — little  desk  on  Sundays — eh,  Johnny  !" 

^[r.  Willet  refiected  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  muttered,  as  it  were,  mechanically : 
"  Let  us  sing  to  the  praise  and  glory  of — " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the  little  man, 
hastily;  "that's  it  —  that's  me,  Johnny. 
You  're  all  right  now,  an't  you?  Say  you're 
all  rieht,  Johnny." 

"All  right  1"  pondered  Mr.  Willet,  as  if 
that  were  a  matter  entirely  between  himself 
and  his  conscience.     "All  right?     Ah!" 

"They  haven't  been  misusing  you  with 
sticks,  or  pokers,  or  any  other  blunt  instru- 
ments, have  they,  Johnny  !"  asked  Solomon, 
with  n  vf*ry  anxious  glance  at  Mr.  Willet's 
heuu      ••  Tney  aidn't  oeat  you,  did  '.hey  V       ', 


John  knitted  his  brow;  looked  downwards, 
as  if  mentally  engaged  in  some  arithmetical 
calculation ;  then  upwards,  as  if  the  total 
wouldn't  come  at  his  call ;  then  at  Solomon 
Daisy,  from  his  eyebrow  to  his  shoe-buckle  ; 
then  very  slowly  round  the  bar;  and  then  a 
great,  round,  leaden-looking,  and  not-at-all- 
transparent  tear  came  rolling  out  of  each  eye, 
and  he  said,  as  he  shook  his  head  : 

"  ]f  they  'd  only  had  the  goodness  to  mur- 
der me,  I'd  have  thanked  'em  kindl}'." 

"  No,  no,  no,  don't  say  that  Johnny,"  whim- 
pered his  little  friend.  "  It 's  very — very  b  id, 
but  not  quite  so  bad  as  that.     No,  no !" 

"  Lookee  here,  sir !"  cried  John,  turning  his 
rueful  eyes  on  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  drop- 
ped on  one  knee,  and  was  hastily  beginning  to 
untie  his  bonds.  "  Lookee  here,  sir !  The 
very  Maypole — the  old  dumb  Maypole  — 
stares  in  at  the  winder,  as  if  it  said,  '  John 
Willet,  John  Willct,  let 's  go  and  pitch  our- 
selves in  the  nighest  pool  of  water  as  is  deep 
enough  to  hold  us  ;  for  our  day  is  over  !'  " 

"  Don't,  Johnny,  don't,"  cried  his  friend  : 
no  less  affected  by  this  mournful  effort  of  Mr. 
Willet's  imagination,  than  by  the  sepulchral 
tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  for  the  Maypole. 
"  Please  don't,  Johnny  !" 

"  Your  loss  is  great,  and  your  misfortune  a 
heavy  one,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  looking  rest- 
lessly towards  the  door:  "and  this  is  not  a 
time  to  comfort  you.  If  it  were,  1  am  in  no 
condition  to  do  so.  Before  1  leave  you,  tell  me 
one  thing,  and  try  to  tell  me  truly  and  plainly, 
I  implore  you.  Have  you  seen  or  heard  of 
Emma!" 

"  No !"  said  Mr.  Willet. 

"Nor  any  one,  but  these  blood-hounds  1" 

"No!" 

"They  rode  away,  I  trust  in  Heaven,  be- 
fore these  dreadful  scenes  began,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  who,  between  his  agitation,  his  ea- 
gerness to  mount  his  horse  again,  and  the 
dexterity  with  which  the  cords  were  tied,  had 
scarcely  yet  undone  one  knot.  "A  knife, 
Daisy." 

"  You  didn't,"  said  John,  looking  about,  as 
though  he  had  lost  his  pocket-handkerchief, 
or  some  such  slight  article  —  "either  of  you, 
gentlemen  —  see  a  —  a  coffin  anywheres,  did 
you  ]" 

"  VViilet !"  cried  Mr.  Haredale.  Solomon 
dropped  the  knife,  and  instantly  becoming 
limp  from  head  to  foot,  exclaimed  "Good  gra- 
cious !" 

"  —  Because,"  said  John,  not  at  all  regard- 
ing them,  "a  dead  man  called  a  little  time 
ago,  on  his  way  yonder.  I  could  have  told 
you  what  name  was  on  the  plate,  if  he  had 
brought  his  coffin  with  him,  and  left  it  behind. 
If  he  didn't,  it  don't  signify." 

His  landlord,  who  had  listened  to  these 
words  with  breathl-ess  attention,  started  thai 
moment  to  his  feet ;  and,  without  a  word,  drev 
Solomon  Daisy  to  tlie  door,  mounted  his  horse, 
took  him  up  behind  again,  and  flew  rutiiei 
than  galloped  tovvards  ♦h'^  pilpc*"  ruins,  which 
thai  aay  s  sun  nau  gnone  upon,  a  staieiv  nnusc. 


232 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


Mr.  Willet  stared  after  them,  listened,  looked 
down  upon  himself,  to  make  quite  sure  that 
he  was  still  unbound,  and,  without  any  mani- 
festation of  impatience,  disappointment,  or  sur- 
prise, gently  relapsed  into  the  condition  from 
which  he  had  so  imperfectly  recovered. 

Mr.  Haredale  tied  his  horse  to  the  trunk 
of  a  tree,  and  grasping  his  companion's  arm, 
stole  softly  along  the  footpath,  and  into  what 
had  been  the  garden  of  his  house.  He  stopped 
for  an  instant  to  look  upon  its  smoking  walls, 
and  at  the  stars  that  shone  through  roof  and 
floor  upon  the  heap  of  crumbling  ashes.  Solo- 
mon glanced  timidly  in  his  face,  but  his  lips 
were  tightly  pressed  together,  a  resolute  and 
stern  expression  sat  upon  his  brow,  and  not  a 
tear,  a  look,  or  gesture  indicating  grief  es- 
caped him. 

He  drpw  his  sword;  felt  for  a  moment  in 
his  breast,  as  though  he  carried  other  arms 
about  him ;  then  grasping  Solomon  by  the 
wrist  again,  went  with  a  cautious  step  ail 
round  the  house.  He  looked  into  every  door- 
way and  gap  in  the  wall;  retraced  his  steps 
at  every  rustling  of  the  air  among  the  leaves; 
and  searched  in  every  shadowed  nook  with 
outstretched  hands.  Thus  they  made  the  cir- 
cuit of  the  building:  but  they  returned  to  the 
spot  from  which  they  had  set  out,  without  en- 
countering any  human  being,  or  finding  the 
least  trace  of  any  concealed  straggler. 

After  a  short  pause,  Mr.  Haredale  shouted 
twice  or  thrice ;  then  cried  aloud,  "  Is  there 
any  one  in  hiding  here,  who  knows  my  voice? 
There  is  nothing  to  fear  now.  If  any  of  my 
people  are  near,  I  entreat  them  to  answer !" 
He  called  them  all  by  name;  his  voice  was 
echoed  in  many  mournful  tones;  then  all  was 
eilent  as  before. 

They  were  standing  near  the  foot  of  the 
turret,  where  the  alarm-bell  hung.  The  fire 
had  raged  there,  and  the  floors  had  been  sawn, 
and  hewn,  and  beaten  down,  besides.  It  was 
open  to  the  night;  but  a  part  of  the  staircase 
still  remained,  winding  upwards  from  a  great 
mound  of  dust  and  cinders.  Fragments  of 
the  jagged  and  broken  steps  offered  an  inse- 
cure and  giddy  footing  here  and  there,  and 
then  were  lost  again  behind  protruding  angles 
of  the  wall,  or  in  the  deep  shadows  cast  upon 
it  by  other  portions  of  the  ruin ;  for  by  this 
time  the  moon  had  risen,  and  shone  brightly. 

As  they  stood  here,  listening  to  the  echoes 
as  they  died  away,  and  hoping  in  vain  to  hear 
a  voice  they  knew,  some  of  the  ashes  in  this 
turret  slipped  and  rolled  down.  Startled  by 
the  least  noise  in  that  melancholy  place,  Solo- 
mon looked  up  at  his  companion's  face,  and 
saw  that  he  had  turned  towards  the  spot,  and 
that  he  watched  and  listened  keenly. 

He  covered  the  little  man's  mouth  with  his 
hand,  and  looked  again.  Instantly,  with  kin- 
dling eyes,  he  bade  him  on  his  life  keep  still, 
and  neither  speak  nor  move.  Then  holding 
/lis  breath  and  stooping  down,  he  stole  into 
ehe  turret,  with  hi«  drawn  sword  in  his  hand, 
aud  disappeared 


Terrified  to  be  left  there  by  himself,  under 
such  desolate  circumstances,  and  after  all  he 
had  seen  and  heard  that  night,  Solomon  would 
have  followed  ;  but  there  had  been  something 
in  Mr.  Haredale's  manner  and  his  look,  the 
recollection  of  which  held  him  spell-bound. 
He  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  and  scarcely  ven- 
turing to  breathe,  looked  up  with  mingled  fear 
and  wonder. 

Again  the  ashes  slipped  and  rolled — very, 
very  softly — again — and  then  again,  as  though 
they  crumbled  underneath  the  tread  of  a 
stealthy  foot.  And  now  a  figure  was  dimly 
visible,  climbing  very  softly,  and  often  stop- 
ping to  look  down  :  now  it  pursued  its  difficult 
way,  and  now  it  was  hidden  from  the  view 
again. 

It  emerged  once  more  into  the  shadowy  and 
uncertain  light  —  higher  now,  but  not  much, 
for  the  way  was  steep  and  toilsome,  and  its 
progress  very  slow.  What  phantom  of  the 
brain  did  he  pursue?  and  why  did  he  look 
down  so  constantly  ]  He  knew  he  was  alone. 
Surely  his  mind  was  not  affected  by  that  night's 
loss  and  agony.  He  was  not  about  to  throw 
himself  headlong  from  the  summit  of  the  tot- 
tering wall.  Solomon  turned  sick,  and  clasped 
his  hands.  His  limbs  trembled  beneath  him, 
and  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  his  pallid 
face. 

If  he  complied  with  Mr.  Haredale's  last  in- 
junction  now,  it  was  because  he  had  not  the 
power  to  speak  or  move.  He  strained  hia 
gaze,  and  fixed  it  on  a  patch  of  moonlight, 
into  which,  if  he  continued  to  ascend,  he  must 
soon  emerge.  When  he  appeared  there,  he 
would  try  to  call  to  him. 

Again  the  ashes  slipped  and  crumbled; 
some  stones  rolled  down,  and  fell  with  a  dull 
heavy  sound  upon  the  ground  below.  He 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  piece  of  moonlight. 
The  figure  was  coming  on,  for  its  shadow  was 
already  thrown  upon  the  wall.  Now  it  appear- 
ed— and  now  looked  round  at  him — and  now — 

The  horror-stricken  clerk  uttered  a  scream 
that  pierced  the  air,  and  cried,  "  The  ghost 
again  !    The  ghost !" 

Long  before  the  echo  of  that  cry  had  died 
away,  another  form  rushed  out  into  the  light, 
flung  itself  upon  the  foremost  one,  knelt  down 
upon  its  breast,  and  clutched  its  throat  with 
both  hands. 

"Villain  !"  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  in  a  terri- 
ble voice — for  it  was  he.  "  Dead  and  buried, 
as  all  men  supposed,  through  your  infernal 
arts,  but  reserved  by  Heaven  for  this.  At  last 
— at  last — I  have  you.  You,  whose  hands  are 
red  with  my  brother's  blood,  and  that  of  his 
faithful  servant,  shed  to  conceal  your  own 
atrocious  guilt.  You,  Rudge,  double  murder- 
er and  monster,  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  o*" 
God,  who  has  delivered  you  into  my  hands. 
Nay,  though  you  had  the  strength  of  twenty 
men,"  he  added,  as  he  writhed  and  struggled, 
"  you  could  not  escape  me,  or  loosen  my  grasp 
to-night." 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY -SEVENTH. 


Barnaby,  armed  as  we  have  seen,  continu- 
ed to  pace  up  and  down  before  the  stable-door ; 
glad  to  be  alone  again,  and  lieartily  rejoicing 
in  the  unaccustomed  silence  and  tranquillity. 
After  the  whirl  of  noise  and  riot  in  wiiich  the 
last  two  days  had  been  passed,  the  pleasures 
of  solitude  and  peace  were  enhanced  a  thou- 
sand-fold. He  felt  quite  happy ;  and  as  he 
leaned  upon  his  statl'  and  nuised,  a  bright 
smile  overspread  his  face,  and  none  but  cheer- 
ful visions  floated  into  his  brain. 

Had  he  no  thoughts  of  her,  whose  sole  de- 
light he  was,  and  whom  he  had  unconsciously 
plunged  in  such  bitter  sorrow  and  such  deep 
affliction !  Oh,  yes.  She  was  at  the  heart 
of  all  his  cheerful  hopes  and  proud  reflections. 
It  was  she  whom  all  this  honour  and  distinc- 
tion were  to  gladden  ;  the  joy  and  proflt  were 
for  her.  What  delight  it  gave  her  to  hear  of 
the  bravery  of  her  poor  boy  !  All !  He  would 
have  known  that  without  Hugh's  telling  him. 
And  what  a  precious  thing  it  was  to  know  she 
lived  so  happily,  and  heard  with  so  much 
pride  (he  pictured  to  himself  her  look  when 
they  told  her)  that  he  was  in  such  high  es- 
teem: bold  among  the  boldest,  and  trusted 
before  them  all.  And  when  these  frays  were 
over,  and  the  good  Lord  had  conquered  his 
enemies,  and  they  were  all  at  peace  again, 
and  he  and  she  were  rich,  what  happiness 
they  would  have  in  talking  of  these  troubled 
times  when  he  was  a  great  soldier:  and  when 
they  sat  alone  together  in  the  tranquil  twi- 
light, and  she  had  no  longer  reason  to  be  anx- 
ious for  the  morrow,  what  pleasure  would  he 
have  in  the  reflection  that  this  was  his  doing 
— his — poor  foolish  Barnaby's;  and  in  patting 
her  on  the  cheek,  and  saying  with  a  merry 
laugii,  "  Am  1  silly  now,  mother — am  I  silly 
now  .'" 

With  a  lighter  heart  and  step,  and  eyes  the 
brighter  for  the  happy  tear  that  dimmed  them 
for  a  moment,  Barnaby  resumed  his  walk; 
and  singing  gaily  to  himself,  kept  guard  upon 
his  quiet  post. 

His  comrade  Grip,  the  partner  of  his  watch, 
though  fond  of  basking  in  the  sunshine,  pre- 
ferred to-day  to  walk  about  the  stable;  hav- 
ing a  great  deal  to  do  in  the  way  of  scattering 
the  straw,  hiding  under  it  such  small  articles 
ns  had  been  casually  left  about,  and  haunting 
Hugh's  bed,  to  which  beseemed  to  have  taken 
a  particular  attachment.  Sometimes  Barna- 
by looked  in  and  called  him,  and  then  he  came 
hopping  out;  but  he  merely  did  this  as  a  con- 
cession to  his  master's  weakness,  and  soon  re- 
turned again  to  hisown  grave  pursuits:  peering 
into  the  straw  with  his  bill,  and  rapidly  cov- 
ering up  the  place,  as  if  he  were  whispering 
secrets  to  the  earth  and  burying  them;  con- 
stantly busying  himself  upon  the  sly ;  and 
alfecling,  whenever  Barnaby  came  past,  to 


look  up  in  the  clouds  and  have  nothing  what 
ever  on  his  mind :  in  short,  conducting  him- 
self, in  many  respects,  in  a  more  than  usually 
thoughtful,  deep,  and  mysterious  manner. 

As  the  day  crept  on,  Barnaby,  who  had  no 
directions  forbidding  him  to  eat  and  drink 
upon  his  post,  but  had  been,  on  the  contrary, 
supplied  with  a  bottle  of  beer  and  a  basket  of 
provisions,  determined  to  break  his  fast,  which 
he  had  not  done  since  morning.  To  this  end, 
he  sat  down  on  the  ground  before  the  door, 
and  putting  his  staft'  across  his  knees  in  case 
of  alarm  or  surprise,  summoned  Grip  to  din- 
ner. 

This  call,  the  bird  obeyed  with  great  alac- 
rity ;  crying,  as  he  sidled  up  to  his  master, 
"  1  'm  a  devil,  I  'm  a  devil,  I  'm  a  Polly,  I  'm 
a  kettle,  1  'm  a  Protestant,  No  Popery  !"  Hav- 
ing learnt  this  latter  sentiment  from  the  gen- 
try among  whom  he  had  lived  of  late,  he  de- 
livered it  with  uncommon  emphasis. 

"  Well  said,  Grip!"  cried  his  master,  as  he 
fed  him  with  the  daintiest  bits.  "  Well  said, 
old  boy !" 

'*  Never  say  die,  bow  wow  wow,  keep  up 
your  spirits.  Grip  Grip  Grip.  Holloa!  We'll 
all  have  tea,  I 'm  a  Protestant  kettle,  No 
Popery  !"  cried  the  raven. 

"  Gordon  for  ever.  Grip  !"  cried  Barnaby. 

The  raven,  placing  his  head  upon  the 
ground,  looked  at  his  master  sideways,  as 
though  he  would  have  said,  "  Say  that  again  !" 
Perfectly  understanding  his  desire,  Barnaby 
repeated  the  phrase  a  great  many  times.  The 
bird  listened  with  profound  attention ;  some- 
times repeating  the  popular  cry  in  a  low  voice, 
as  if  to  compare  the  two,  and  try  if  it  would 
at  all  help  him  to  this  new  accomplishment; 
sometimes  flapping  his  wings,  or  barking ;  and 
sometimes,  in  a  kind  of  desperation,  drawing 
a  multitude  of  corks,  with  extraordinary  vi- 
cioiisness. 

Barnaby  was  so  intent  upon  his  favourite, 
that  he  was  not  at  first  aware  of  the  approach 
of  two  persons  on  horseback,  who  were  riding 
at  a  foot-pace,  and  coming  straight  towards 
his  post.  When  he  perceived  them,  however, 
which  he  did  when  they  were  within  some 
fifty  yards  of  him,  he  jumped  hastily  up,  and 
ordering  Grip  within  doors,  stood  with  both 
hands  on  his  staff',  waiting  until  he  should 
know  whether  they  were  friends  or  foes. 

He  had  hardly  done  so,  when  he  observed 
that  those  who  advanced  were  a  gentleman 
and  his  servant;  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
he  recognised  Lord  George  Gordon,  before 
whom  he  stood  uncovered,  with  his  eyes  turn- 
ed towards  the  ground. 

"  Good  day !"  said  Lord  George,  not  rein- 
ing in  his  horse  until  he  was  close  beside  him 
"Well!" 

"All  quiet,  sir,  all  safe!"  cried  Barnabv 


2M 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


'•  The  rest  are  away — they  went  by  that  path 
— ihat  one.     A  grand  party  !" 

"  Ay  ]"  said  Lord  Georo-e,  looking  thought- 
fully at  him.     "  And  you  ?" — 

"Oh!  They  left  nie  here  to  watch  —  to 
mount  guard — to  keep  everything  secure  till 
iliey  come  back.  1  '11  do  it,  sir,  for  your  sake. 
You're  a  good  gentleman;  a  kind  gentleman 
— ay,  you  are.  There  are  many  against  you, 
but  we'll  be  a  match  for  them,  never  fear!" 

"  What's  thaf?"  said  Lord  George — point- 
ing to  the  raven  who  was  peeping  out  of  the 
elable-door — but  still  looking  thoughtfully,  and 
in  some  perplexity,  it  seemed,  at  Barnaby. 

"  Wliy,  don't  you  know  !"  retorted  Barna- 
by, with  a  wondering  laugh.  "Not  know 
what  he  is!  A  bird,  to  be  sure.  My  bird — 
my  friend — Grip." 

"A  devil,  a  kettle,  a  Grip,  a  Polly,  a  Pro- 
testant— no  Popery  !"  cried  the  raven. 

"  Though,  indeed,"  added  Barnably,  laying 
his  hand  upon  the  neck  of  Lord  George's 
horse,  and  speaking  softly :  "  you  had  good 
reason  to  ask  me  what  he  is,  for  sometimes  it 
puzzles  me — and  I  am  used  to  him — to  think 
he 's  only  a  bird.  Ha  ha  ha !  He 's  my  bro- 
ther, Grip  is — always  with  me — always  talk- 
ing— always  merry — eh,  Grip?" 

The  raven  answered  by  an  affectionate 
croak,  and  hopping  on  his  master's  arm  which 
he  held  downward  for  that  purpose,  submitted 
with  an  air  of  perfect  indifference  to  be  fon- 
dled, and  turned  his  restless,  curious  eye,  now 
upon  Lord  George,  and  now  upon  his  man. 

Lord  George,  biting  his  nails  in  a  discom- 
liled  manner,  regarded  Barnaby  for  some  time 
in  silence ;  then  beckoning  to  his  servant, 
said  : 

"  Come  hither,  John." 

John  Grueby  touched  his  hat,  and  came. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  young  man  be- 
fore 3"  his  master  asked,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Twice,  my  Lord,"  said  John.  "I  saw 
Jaim  in  the  crowd  last  night  and  Saturday," 

"  Did — did  it  seem  to  you  that  his  manner 
was  at  all  wild,  or  stiangel"  Lord  George 
demanded,  faltering. 

"  Mad,"  said  John,  with  emphatic  brevity. 

"And  why  do  you  think  him  mad,  sir!" 
said  his  master,  speaking  in  a  peevish  tone. 
"  Don't  use  that  word  too  freely.  Why  do 
you  think  him  mad  !" 

"  My  Lord,"  John  Grueby  answered,  "  look 
at  his  dress,  look  at  his  eyes,  look  at  his  rest- 
less way,  hear  him  cry  'No  Popery!'  Mad, 
my  Lord." 

"So  because  one  man  dresses  unlike  an- 
other," returned  his  angry  master,  glancing 
at  himself,  "and  happens  to  differ  from  other 
men  in  his  carriage  and  manner,  and  to  ad- 
vocate a  great  caude  which  the  corrupt  and 
irreligious  desert,  he  is  to  be  accounted  mad, 
IS  he !" 

"  Stark,  staring,  raving  mad,  my  Lord,"  re- 
turned the  unmoved  John. 

"Do  you  say  this  to  my  facel"  cried  his 
master,  turning  sharply  upon  hira. 


"  To  any  man,  my  Lord,  who  asks  me,"  an- 
swered John. 

"Mr.  Gashford,  I  find,  was  right,"  said 
Lord  George;  "I  thought  him  prejudiced, 
though  I  ought  to  have  known  a  man  like  him 
better,  than  to  have  supposed  it  possible !" 

"  I  shall  never  have  Mr.  Gashfbrd's  good 
word,  my  Lord,"  replied  John,  touching  hia 
hat  respectfully,  "  and  I  don't  covet  it." 

"You  are  an  ill-conditioned,  most  ungrate- 
ful fellow,"  said  Lord  George:  "a  spy,  for 
anything  I  know.  Mr.  Gashtbrd  is  perfectly 
correct,  as  I  might  have  felt  convinced  he 
was.  I  have  done  wrong  to  retain  you  in  my 
service.  It  is  a  tacit  insult  to  hun  as  my 
choice  and  confidential  friend  to  do  so,  remem- 
bering the  cause  you  sided  with,  on  the  day 
he  was  maligned  at  Westminster.  You  will 
leave  me  to-night — nay,  as  soon  as  we  reach 
home.     The  sooner,  the  better." 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  say  so  too,  my  Lord. 
Let  Mr.  Gashford  have  his  will.  As  to  my 
being  a  spy,  my  Lord,  you  know  me  better 
than  to  believe  it,  1  am  sure.  I  don't  know 
much  about  causes.  My  cause  is  the  cause 
of  one  man  against  two  hundred ;  and  1  hope 
i.t  always  will  be." 

"  You  have  said  quite  enough,"  returned 
Lord  George,  motioning  him  to  go  back.  "I 
desire  to  hear  no  more." 

"If  you'll  let  me  add  another  word,  my 
Lord,"  returned  John  Grueby,  "I'd  give  this 
silly  fellow  a  caution  not  to  slay  here  by  him- 
self. The  proclamation  is  in  a  good  many 
hands  already,  and  it's  well  known  that  he 
was  concerned  in  the  business  it  relates  to. 
He  had  better  get  to  a  place  of  safety  if  he 
can,  poor  creature." 

"  You  hear  what  this  man  says  ]"  cried 
Lord  George,  addressing  Barnaby,  who  had 
looked  on  and  wondered  while  this  dialogue 
passed.  "  He  thinks  you  may  be  afraid  to  re- 
main upon  your  post,  and  are  kept  here  per- 
haps against  your  will.    What  do  you  say  .'" 

"I  think,  young  man,"  said  John,  m  expla- 
nation, "  that  the  soldiers  may  turn  out  and 
take  you;  and  that  if  they  do,  you  will  cer- 
tainly be  hung  by  the  neck  till  you're  dead 
— dead — dead.  And  I  think  you  'd  better  go 
from  here  as  fast  as  you  can.  That 's  what  1 
think." 

"  He 's  a  coward.  Grip,  a  coward !"  cried 
Barnaby,  putting  the  raven  on  the  ground, 
and  shouldering  his  staff!  "Let  them  come! 
Gordon  for  ever  !    Let  them  come  !" 

"  Ay  !"  said  Lord  George,  "  let  them  !  Let 
us  see  who  will  venture  to  attack  a  power  like 
ours;  the  solemn  league  of  a  whole  people. 
This  a  madman  !  You  have  said  well,  very 
well.  I  am  proud  to  be  the  leader  of  such 
men  as  you." 

Barnaby's  heart  swelled  within  his  bosom 
as  he  heard  these  words.  He  took  Lord 
George's  hand  and  carried  it  to  his  lips;  pat- 
ted his  horse's  crest,  as  if  the  affection  and 
j  admiration  he  had  conceived  for  the  man  ex- 
'  tended  to  the  animal  he  rode  ■  then  unfurled 


B  A.  R  N  A  D  Y  R  U  D  GE  . 


235 


his  flajr,  and  proudly  waving  it,  resumed  iiis 
pacing  up  and  duwn. 

Lord  (Jooro-e,  with  a  kindling  eye  and  glow- 
ing clie^k,  took  off  his  hat,  and  flourishing  it 
above  his  hoad,  bade  him  exultingly  Farewt'l! ! 
—  then  cantered  off  at  a  brisk  pace;  after 
glancing  angrily  round  to  see  that  his  ser- 
vant followed.  Honest  John  set  spurs  to  his 
horse  and  rode  after  his  master,  but  not  before 
he  had  again  warned  Barnaby  to  retreat,  with 
many  signiticant  gestures,  which  indeed  he 
continued  to  make,  and  Barnaby  to  resist,  un- 
til the  windings  of  the  road  concealed  them 
from  each  other's  view. 

Left  to  himself  again  with  a  still  higher 
sense  of  the  importance  of  his  post,  and  stim- 
ulated to  enthusiasm  by  the  special  notice  and 
encouragement  of  his  leader,  Barnaby  walked 
to  and  fro  in  a  delicious  trance  rather  than  as 
a  walcing  man.  The  sunshine  whicii  prevail- 
ed around  was  in  his  mind.  He  had  but  one 
desire  ungratified.  If  she  could  only  see  him 
now  ! 

The  day  wore  on ;  its  heat  was  gently  giv- 
ing place  to  tliecool  of  evenin;?;  a  light  wind 
sprung  up,  fanning  his  long  hair,  and  making 
the  banner  rustle  pleasantly  above  his  head. 
There  was  a  freedom  and  freshness  in  the 
sound  and  in  the  time,  which  chimed  exactly 
with  his  mooil.     He  was  hapoier  than  ever. 

He  was  leaning  on  his  staff  looking  towards 
the  declining  sun,  and  refl^^cling  with  a  smile 
that  he  stood  sentinel  at  that  moment  over 
buried  gold,  when  two  or  three  ficfures  appear- 
ed in  the  distance,  making  towards  the  hori.se 
at  a  rapid  pace,  and  motioning  with  their 
hands  as  thouorh  they  uro^ed  its  inmates  to  re- 
treat from  some  approaching  danger.  As  thf'y 
drew  nearer,  they  became  more  earnest  in 
their  jf^stiires;  and  they  were  no  sooner  with- 
in hearing,  than  the  foremost  among  them 
cried  that  the  soldi'^rs  were  corninir  n^J- 

At  these  words,  B  irnaby  furh'd  his  flaff,  and 
tied  it  round  the  pole.  His  heart  beat  high 
while  he  did  so,  but  he  had  no  more  fear  or 
thought  of  retreatinj  than  the  pole  itself! 
The  friendly  strasfglers  hurried  past  him,  af- 
ter giving  him  notice  of  his  danger,  and  quick- 
ly passed  into  the  house,  where  the  utmost 
confusion  immediately  prevailed.  As  those 
within  hastily  closed  the  windows  and  the 
doors,  they  urged  him  by  looks  and  signs  to 
fly  without  loss  of  time,  and  called  to  him 
many  times  to  do  so;  but  he  only  shook  his 
head  indignantly  in  answer,  and  stood  the 
firmer  on  his  post.  Finding  that  he  was  not 
to  be  persuaded,  they  took  care  of  themselves ; 
and  leaving  the  place  with  only  one  old  wo- 
man in  it,  speedily  withdrew. 

As  yet  there  had  been  no  symptom  of  the 
news  liaving  any  better  foundation  than  in  the 
fears  of  those  who  brought  it;  but  the  Boot 
had  not  been  deserted  five  minutes,  when 
there  appeared,  coming  across  the  fields,  a 
body  of  men  who,  it  was  easy  to  see,  by  the 
glitter  of  their  arms  and  ornaments  in  the  j 
6un,  and  by  their  orderly  and  regular  mode  I 


of  advancing — for  they  came  on  as  one  man 
— were  soldiers.  In  a  very  little  time.  Bar 
naby  knew  that  they  were  a  strong  detach- 
ment of  the  Foot  Guards,  having  along  with 
them  two  gentlemen  in  private  clothes,  and  a 
small  party  of  Horse;  the  latter  brought  up 
the  rear,  and  were  not  in  number  more  than 
six  or  eight. 

They  advanced  steadily;  neither  quicken- 
ing their  pace  as  they  came  nearer,  nor  rais- 
ing any  cry,  nor  showing  the  least  emotion  or 
anxiety.  Though  this  was  a  matter  of  course 
in  the  case  of  regular  troops,  even  to  Birna- 
by,  there  was  something  particularly  impres- 
sive and  disconcerting  in  it  to  one  accustomed 
to  the  noise  and  tumult  of  an  undisciplined 
mob.  For  all  that,  he  stood  his  ground  not  a 
whit  the  less  resolutely,  and  looked  on  undis- 
mayed. 

Presently  they  marched  into  the  yard,  and 
halted.  The  commanding  officer  despatched 
a  messenger  to  the  horsemen,  one  of  whom 
came  riding  back.  Some  words  pasr^ed  be- 
tween them,  and  they  glanced  at  Barnaby; 
who  well  remembered  the  man  he  had  un- 
horsed at  Westminster,  and  saw  him  now  be- 
fore his  eyes.  The  man  being  speedily  dis- 
missed, saluted,  and  rode  back  to  his  com- 
rades, who  were  drawn  up  apart  at  a  short 
distance. 

The  officer  then  gave  the  word  to  prime 
and  load.  The  heavy  ringing  of  the  musket- 
stocks  upon  the  ground,  and  the  sharp  and  ra- 
pid rattlinof  of  the  ramrods  in  their  barrels, 
were  a  kind  of  relief  to  liirnaby,  deadly 
though  he  knew  the  purport  of  such  sounds 
to  be.  When  this  was  done,  otfier  commanda 
were  sfiven,  and  the  soldiers  instaiitaneniisly 
formed  in  sini:fle  file  all  round  the  house  and 
stables;  completely  encircling  them  in  every 
part,  at  a  distance,  perhaps,  of  some  half-do- 
zim  yards;  at  least  that  seemed  in  Birnaby's 
eye-;  to  be  about  the  space  left  bi-tween  him- 
sidf  and  those  wiio  confronted  him.  Tne 
horsemen  remained  drawn  up  by  themselves 
a.s  before. 

The  two  gentlemen  in  private  clothes  who 
had  kept  aloof,  now  rode  forward,  one  on 
either  side  the  officer.  The  proclamation  hav 
ing  bf^en  produced  and  read  by  one  of  them 
the  officer  called  on  Barnaby  to  siirrendpr. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  steppintr  within 
the  door,  before  which  he  had  kept  frunrd, 
i  held  his  pole  crosswise  to  protect  it.  In  the 
midst  of  a  profound  silence,  he  was  again 
called  upon  to  yield. 

Still  he  offered  no  reply.  Indeed  he  had 
enough  to  do,  to  run  his  eye  backward  and 
forward  along  the  halMozfn  men  who  imme- 
diately fronted  him,  and  settle  hurriedly  with- 
in himself  at  which  of  them  he  would  strike 
first,  when  they  pressed  on  him.  He  caught 
the  eye  of  one  in  the  centre,  and  resolved  to 
hew  that  fellow  down,  though  he  died  for  it. 

Again  there  was  a  dead  silence,  and  again 
the  same  voice  callea  dpon  him  to  deliver 
himself  up. 


2^. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


Nfixt  moment  he  was  back  in  the  stable, 
tlealing  blows  about  him  like  a  madman.  Two 
of  the  men  lay  stretched  at  his  feet:  the  one 
he  had  marked,  dropped  first — he  had  a  thought 
for  thit,  even  in  the  hot  blood  and  hurry  of 
thestrug-gle.  Another  blow — another!  Down, 
mastered,  wounded  in  the  breast  by  a  heavy 
blow  from  the  butt-end  of  a  gun  (he  saw  the 
weapon  in  the  act  of  falling) — breathless — 
and  a  prisoner. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  from  the  officer 
recalled  him,  in  some  degree,  to  himself.  He 
looked  round.  Grip,  after  working  in  secret 
all  tlie  afternoon,  and  with  redoubled  vigour 
while  everybody's  attention  was  distracted, 
had  plucked  away  the  straw  from  Hugh's  bed, 
and  turned  up  the  loose  ground  with  his  iron 
bill.  The  hole  had  been  recklessly  filled  to 
the  brim,  and  was  merely  sprinkled  with  earth. 
Golden  cups,  spoons,  candlesticks,  coined 
guineas — all  the  riches  were  revealed. 

They  brought  spades  and  a  sack;  dug  up 
everything  that  was  hidden  there;  and  car- 
ried away  more  than  two  men  could  lift. 
They  handcuffed  him  and  bound  his  arm, 
searched  liim,  and  took  away  all  he  had.  No- 
body questioned  or  reproached  him,  or  seemed 
to  have  much  curiosity  about  him.  The  two 
men  he  had  stunned,  were  carried  off  by  their 
citmpanions  in  tne  same  busmess-like  way  in 


which  everything  else  was  done.  Finally,  he 
was  left  under  a  guard  of  four  soldiers  with 
fixed  bayonets,  while  the  officer  directed  in 
person  the  search  of  the  house  and  the  other 
buildings  connected  with  it. 

This  was  soon  completed.  The  soldiers 
formed  again  in  the  yard ;  he  was  marched 
out,  with  his  guard  about  him;  and  ordered 
to  fall  in,  where  a  space  was  left.  The  others 
closed  up  all  round,  and  so  they  moved  away, 
with  the  prisoner  in  the  centre. 

When  they  came  into  the  streets,  he  felt 
he  was  a  sight;  and  looking  up  as  they  pass- 
ed quickly  along,  could  see  people  running  to 
the  windows  a  little  too  late,  and  throwing  up 
the  sashes  to  look  after  him.  Sometimes  he 
met  a  staring  face  beyond  the  heads  about 
him,  or  under  the  arms  of  his  conductors,  or 
peering  down  upon  him  from  a  wagon-top  or 
coach-box ;  but  this  was  all  he  saw,  being  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  men.  The  very  noises 
of  the  streets  seemed  muffled  and  subdued; 
and  the  air  came  stale  and  hot  upon  him,  like 
the  sickly  breath  of  an  oven. 

Tramp,  tramp.  Tramp,  tramp.  Heads 
erect,  shoulders  square,  every  man  stepping 
in  exact  time — all  so  orderly  and  regular — 
nobody  looking  at  him — nobody  seeming  con- 
scious of  his  presence, — he  could  hardly  be- 
lieve he  was  a  Prisoner.     But  at  the  word 


BARN  A  BY  RUDGE. 


237 


thouirli  only  thoutrht,  not  spoken,  he  felt  the 
haniicnffs  galling  his  wrists,  the  cord  pressintr 
his  arms  to  his  sides:  the  loaded  guns  level- 
led at  his  head;  and  those  cold,  bright,  sharp, 


shining  points  turned  towards  liin.,  the  mere 
looking  down  at  which,  now  that  he  waa 
bound  and  helpless,  made  the  warm  current 
o-f  his  life  run  cold. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-EIGHTH. 


They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  bar- 
racks, for  tlie  otlicer  who  commanded  the  par- 
ty was  desirous  to  avoid  rousing  the  people  by 
the  display  of  military  force  in  the  streets,  and 
was  humanely  anxious  to  give  as  little  op- 
portunity as  possible  for  any  attempt  at  res- 
cue; knowing  that  it  must  lead  to  bloodshed 
and  loss  of  life,  and  that  if  the  civil  authori- 
ties by  whom  he  was  accompanied,  empower- 
ed him  to  order  his  men  to  tire,  many  inno- 
cent persons  would  probably  fall,  whom  curi- 
osity or  idleness  had  attracted  to  the  spot.  He 
therefore  led  the  party  briskly  on,  avoiding 
with  a  merciful  prudence  the  more  public  and 
crowded  thoroughfares,  and  pursuing  those 
which  he  deemed  least  likely  to  be  infested 
by  disorderly  persons.  This  wise  proceeding 
not  only  enabled  them  to  gain  their  quarters 
without  any  interruption,  but  completely  baf- 
fled a  body  of  rioters  who  had  assembled  in 
one  of  the  main  streets,  through  which  it  was 
considered  certain  they  would  pass,  and  who 
remained  gathered  together  for  the  purpose 
of  releasing  the  prisoner  from  their  hands, 
long  after  they  had  deposited  him  in  a  place 
of  security,  closed  the  barrack  gates,  and  set 
a  double  guard  at  every  entrance  for  its  bet- 
ter protection. 

Arrived  at  this  place,  poor  Barnaby  was 
marched  into  a  stone-floored  room,  where  there 
was  a  very  powerful  smell  of  tobacco,  a  strong 
thorough  draft  of  air,  and  a  great  wooden  bed- 
stead, large  enough  for  a  score  of  men.  Sev- 
eral soldiers  in  undress  were  lounging  about, 
or  eating  from  tin-cans;  military  accoutre- 
ments dangled  on  rows  of  pegs  along  the 
whitewashed  wall ;  and  some  half-dozen  men 
lay  fast  asleep  upon  their  backs,  snoring  in 
concert.  After  remaining  here  just  long 
enough  to  note  these  things,  he  was  marched 
out  again,  and  conveyed  across  the  parade- 
ground  to  another  portion  of  the  building. 

Perhaps  a  man  never  sees  so  much  at  a 
glance  as  when  he  is  in  a  situation  of  extrem- 
ity. The  chances  are  a  hundred  to  one,  that 
if  Barnaby  had  lounged  in  at  the  gate  to  look 
about  him,  he  would  have  lounged  out  again 
with  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  the  place,  and 
would  have  remembered  very  little  about  it. 
But  as  he  was  taken  handcuffed  across  the 
gravelled  area,  nothing  escaped  his  notice. 
The  dry,  arid  look  of  the  dusty  square,  and 
of  the  bare  brick  building;  the  clothes  hang- 
ing at  some  of  the  windows;  and  the  men  in 
their  shirt-sleeves  and  braces,  lolling  with  half 
their  bodies  out  of  the  others;  the  green  sun- 
blinds  at  the  officers'  quarters,  and  the  little 
scanty  trees  in  front ;  the  drummer-boys  prac- 


tising in  a  distant  court-yard  ;  the  men  on 
drill^on  the  parade;  the  two  soldiers  carrying 
a  basket  between  them,  who  winked  to  each 
other  as  he  went  by,  and  slyly  pointed  to  their 
throats;  the  spruce  Sergeant  who  hurried  past 
with  a  cane  in  his  hand,  and  under  his  arm  a 
clasped  book  with  a  vellum  cover ;  the  fellows 
in  the  ground-floor  rooms,  furbishing  and 
brushing  up  their  difi'erent  articles  of  dress, 
who  stopped  to  look  at  him,  and  whose  voices 
as  they  spoke  together  echoed  loudly  through 
the  empty  galleries  and  passages ;  everything, 
down  to  the  stand  of  muskets  before  the  guard- 
house, and  the  drum  with  a  pipe-clayed  belt 
attached,  in  one  corner,  impressed  itself  upon 
his  observation,  as  though  he  had  noticed  them 
in  the  same  place  a  hundred  times,  or  had 
been  a  whole  day  among  them,  in  place  of  one 
brief  hurried  minute. 

He  was  taken  into  a  small,  paved  back  yard, 
and  there  they  opened  a  great  door,  plated 
with  iron,  and  pierced  some  five  feet  above 
the  ground  with  a  few  holes  to  let  in  air  and 
light.  Into  this  dungeon  he  was  walked 
straightway  ;  and  having  locked  him  up  there, 
and  placed  a  sentry  over  him,  they  left  him  to 
his  meditations. 

The  cell,  or  black  hole,  for  it  had  those 
words  painted  on  the  door,  was  very  dark,  and 
having  recently  accommodated  a  drunken  de- 
serter, by  no  means  clean.  Barnaby  felt  his 
way  to  some  straw  at  the  further  end,  and  look- 
ing towards  the  door,  tried  to  accustom  him- 
self to  the  gloom,  which,  coming  from  the 
bright  sunshine  out  of  doors,  was  not  an  easy 
task. 

There  was  a  kind  of  portico  or  colonnade 
outside,  and  this  obstructed  even  the  little 
light  that  at  the  best  could  have  found  its  way 
through  the  small  apertures  in  the  door.  The 
footsteps  of  the  sentinel  echoed  monotonously 
as  he  paced  its  stone  pavement  to  and  fro  (re- 
minding Barnaby  of  the  watch  he  had  so  late- 
ly kept  himself;)  and  as  he  passed  and  re- 
p'assed  the  door,  he  made  the  cell  for  an  instant 
so  black  by  the  interposition  of  his  body,  that 
his  going  away  again  spemed  like  the  appear- 
ance of  a  new  ray  of  light,  and  was  quite  a 
circumstance  to  look  for. 

When  the  prisoner  had  sat  sometime  upon 
the  ground,  gazing  at  the  chinks,  and  listen- 
ing to  the  advancing  and  receding  footsteps 
of  his  guard,  the  man  stood  still  unon  his  post. 
Barnaby,  quite  unable  to  think,  or  to  speculate 
on  what  would  be  done  with  hnn,  had  been 
lulled  into  a  kind  of  doze  by  his  regular  pace, 
but  his  stopping  roused  him:  and  then  he  be- 
came aware  that  two  men  were  in  conversn 


238 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


f,ion  under  tlio  colonnade,  and  very  near  tlie 
diior  ot  his  cell. 

How  lonir  they  had  been  talking  there,  he 
could  not  tell,  for  be  had  fallen  into  an  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  real  position,  and  when  the 
footsteps  ceased,  was  answering  aloud  some 
question  which  seemed  to  have  been  put 
to  him  by  Hugh  in  the  stable,  though  of  the 
fancied  purport,  either  of  question  or  reply, 
notwithstanding  tiiat  he  awoke  with  the  latter 
on  his  lips,  he  had  no  recollection  whatever. 
The  first  words  that  reached  his  ears,  were 
these : 

"  Why  is  he  brought  here  then,  if  he  has 
to  be  taken  away  again,  so  soonl" 

"Why  where  would  you  have  him  go!  Dam- 
me, he's  not  as  safe  anywhere  as  among  the 
king's  troops,  is  he "!  What  would  you  do  with 
him  ?  Would  you  hand  him  over  to  a  pack  of 
cowardly  civilians,  that  shake  in  their  shoes 
till  they  wear  the  soles  out,  with  trembling  at 
the  threats  of  the  ragamuffins  he  belongs  to?" 

"That's  true  enough." 

"  True  enough  ! — 1  '11  tell  you  what.  I  wish, 
Tom  Green,  that  I  was  a  comuiissioned  instead 
of  a  non-commissioned  officer,  and  that  I  had 
the  command  of  two  companies  —  only  two 
companies — of  my  own  regiment.  Call  me  out 
to  stop  these  riots — give  me  the  needful  autho- 
rity, and  half-a-dozen  rounds  of  ball  cart- 
ridge  " 

"Ay!"  said  the  other  voice.  "That's  all 
very  well,  but  they  won't  give  the  needful 
authority.  If  the  magistrate  won't  give  the 
word,  what's  the  officer  to  dol" 

Not  very  well  knovving,  as  it  seemed,  how 
to  overcome  this  .difficulty,  the  other  man  con- 
tented himself  wi.h  damning  the  magistrates. 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  his  friend. 

"Where's  the  use  of  a  magistrate?"  re- 
turned the  other  voice.  "  What 's  a  magistrate 
in  this  case,  but  an  impertinent,  unnecessary, 
unconstitutional  sort  of  interference  ]  Here's 
a  proclamation.  Here's  a  man  referred  to  in 
that  proclamation.  Here's  proof  against  him, 
and  a  witness  on  the  spot.  Damme !  Take 
him  out  and  shoot  him,  sir.  Who  wants  a 
magistrate  ?" 

"  When  does  he  go  before  Sir  John  Field- 
ing 1"  asked  the  man  who  had  spoken  first. 

"To-nio-ht  at  eight  o'clock,"  returned  the 
other.  "  Mark  what  follows.  The  magistrate 
commits  him  to  Newgate.  Our  people  take 
him  to  Newgate.  The  rioters  pelt  our  people. 
Our  people  retire  before  the  rioters.  Stones 
are  thrown,  insults  are  offered,  not  a  shot's 
fired.  Why!  Because  of  the  magistrates. 
Damn  the  magistrates !" 

When  he  had  in  some  degree  relieved  his 
mind  by  cursing  the  magistrates  in  various 
other  forms  of  speech,  the  man  was  silent, 
save  for  a  low  growling,  still  having  reference 
10  those  authorities,  which  from  time  to  time 
escaped  him. 

Barnaby,  who  had  wit  enough  to  know  that 
this  conversation  concerned,  and  very  nearly 
ctmoerned,  himself,  remained  perfectly  quiet 


until  they  ceased  to  speak,  when  he  groped 
his  way  to  the  door,  and  peeping  thruugh  the 
air-holes,  tried  to  make  out  what  kind  uf  men 
they  were,  to  whom  he  had  been  listening. 

The  one  who  condemned  the  civil  power  in 
such  strong  terms,  was  a  serjeant — engaged 
just  then,  as  the  streaming  ribands  in  his  cap 
announced,  on  the  recruiting  service.  He 
stood  leaning  sideways  against  a  pillar  nearly 
opposite  the  door,  and  as  he  growled  to  him- 
self, drew  figures  on  the  pavement  with  his 
cane.  The  other  man  had  his  back  towards 
the  dungeon,  and  Barnaby  could  only  see  his 
form.  To  judge  from  that,  he  was  a  gallant, 
manly,  handsome  fellow,  but  he  had  lost  hia 
left  arm.  It  had  been  taken  oft'  between  the 
elbow  and  the  shoulder,  and  his  empty  coat- 
sleeve  luing  across  his  breast. 

It  was  probably  this  circumstance  which 
gave  iiim  an  interest  beyond  any  that  his  com- 
panion could  hoasi  cf,  and  attracted  Barnaby's 
attention.  There  was  something  soldierly  in 
his  bearinir,  and  he  wore  a  jaunty  cap  and 
jacket.  Perhaps  he  had  been  in  the  service 
at  one  time  or  other.  If  he  had,  it  could  not 
have  been  very  long  ago,  for  he  was  but  a 
young  fellow  now. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  thoughtfully;  "let 
the  fault  bo  where  it  may,  it  makes  a  man 
sorrowful  to  come  back  to  old  England,  and 
see  her  in  this  condition." 

"I  suppose  the  pigs  will  join  'em  next," 
said  the  serjeant,  with  an  imprecation  on  the 
rioters,  "  now  that  the  birds  have  set  'em  an 
example." 

"The  birds!"  repeated  Tom  Green. 

"  Ah  —  birds,"  said  the  serjeant  testily ; 
"that's  E.iglish,  ati't  it?" 

"  I  don't  linovv  what  you  mean." 

"  Go  to  the  guard-house,  and  see.  You  '11 
find  a  bird  there,  that's  got  their  cry  as  pat 
as  any  of  'em,  and  bawls  'No  Popery,'  like  a 
man — or  like  a  devil,  as  he  says  he  is.  I 
shouldn't  wonder.  The  devil 's  loose  in  Lon- 
don somewhere.  Damme  if  I  wouldn't  twist 
his  reck  round,  on  the  chance,  if  I  had  my 
way." 

The  young  man  had  taken  two  c-r  three 
hasty  steps  away,  as  if  to  go  and  see  this  crea- 
ture, when  he  was  arrested  by  the  voice  of 
Barnaby. 

"It's  mine,"  he  called  out,  half  laughing 
and  half  weeping — "my  pet,  my  friend  Grip. 
Ha  ha  ha !  Don't  hurt  him,  he  iias  done  no 
harm.  I  taught  him;  it's  my  fault.  Let  me 
have  him,  if  you  please.  He's  the  only  friend 
I  have  left  now.  He  '11  not  dance,  or  talk,  or 
whistle  for  you,  I  know ;  but  he  will  for  me, 
because  he  knows  me,  and  loves  me — though 
you  wouldn't  think  it  —  very  well.  You 
wouldn't  hurt  a  bird,  I'm  sure.  You're  a 
brave  soldier,  sir,  and  wouldn't  harm  a  woman 
or  a  child— no,  no,  nor  a  poor  bird,  I  am  cer- 
tain." 

This  latter  adjuration  was  addressed  to  tho 
serjeant,  whom  Barnaby  judged  from  his  red 
coat  to  be  high  in  office,  and  able  to  seal  Grio'a 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


23J* 


destiny  by  i  won].  But  that  gentleman,  in 
reply,  surlily  tliuiuied  him  for  a  thief  and  re- 
bel us  he  was,  and  with  many  disinterested 
imprecations  on  iiisown  eyes,  liver,  blood,  and 
body,  assured  him  that  if  it  rested  with  him 
to  decide,  ho  would  put  a  final  stopper  on  the 
bird,  and  iiis  master  too. 

"You  talk  boldly  to  a  canned  man,"  said 
Barnaby,  in  an^fer.  "  If  I  was  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door  and  there  were  none  to  pait 
us,  you  'd  chanfje  your  note — ay,  you  may  toss 
your  head — you  would  !  Kill  tlie  bird — do. 
Kill  anything  you  can,  and  so  revenge  your- 
self on  those  who  with  their  bare  hands  un- 
tied could  do  as  much  to  you  !" 

Having  vented  this  defiance,  he  flnr.J  him- 
self into  the  furthest  corner  of  his  prison,  and 
muttering,  "Good  bye.  Grip — good  bye,  dear 
old  Gripl"  siied  tears  for  the  first  time  since 
he  had  been  taken  captive;  and  hid  his  face 
in  the  straw. 

He  had  had  some  fancy  at  first,  that  the 
one-armed  man  would  help  him,  or  would  give 
him  a  kind  word  in  answer.  He  hardly  knew 
why,  but  he  hoped  and  thougiit  so.  The 
young  fellow  had  stopped  when  he  called  out, 
and  checking  himself  in  the  very  act  of  turn- 
ing round,  stood  listening  to  every  word  he 
saTd.  Perhaps  he  built  his  feeble  trust  on  this ; 
perhaps  on  his  being  young,  and  having  a 
frank  and  honest  manner.  However  that 
might  be,  he  built  on  sand.  The  other  went 
away  directly  he  had  finished  speaking,  and 
neither  answered  him,  nor  returned.  No  mat- 
ter. They  were  all  against  him  here ;  he 
might  have  known  as  much.  Good  bye,  old 
Grip,  good  bye ! 

After  some  time,  they  came  and  unlocked 
the  door,  and  called  to  him  to  come  out.  He 
rose  dirrctly,  and  complied,  for  lie  would  not 
have  them  think  he  was  subdued  or  frighten- 
ed. He  walked  out  like  a  man,  and  looked 
haughtily  from  face  to  face. 

None  of  them  returned  his  gaze  or  seemed 
to  notice  it.  They  marched  him  back  to  the 
parade  by  the  way  they  had  brought  him,  and 
there  they  halted,  among  a  body  of  soldiers, 
at  least  twice  as  numerous  as  that  which  had 
taken  him  prisoner  in  the  afternoon.  The 
oflicer  he  had  seen  before,  bade  him  in  a  few 
brief  words  take  notice  that  if  he  attempted 
to  escape,  no  matter  how  favourable  a  chance 
he  might  suppose  he  had,  certain  of  the  men 
had  orders  to  fire  upon  him,  that  moment. 
They  then  closed  round  him  as  before,  and 
marched  him  off"  again. 

In  the  same  unbroken  order  they  arrived  at 


Bow-street,  followed  and  besot  '•■  1'  sides  by 
a  crowd  which  was  continual!)  ii. creasing. 
Here  he  was  placed  before  a  blind  gentleman, 
and  asked  if  he  wished  to  say  anytiiing.  Not 
he.  What  had  he  got  to  tell  them  ?  After  a 
very  little  talking,  which  he  was  careless  of 
and  quite  indifferent  to,  they  told  him  he  waa 
to  go  to  Newgate,  and  took  him  away. 

He  went  out  into  the  street,  so  surrounded 
and  hemmed  in  on  every  side  by  soldiers,  that 
he  could  see  nothing;  but  he  knew  there  was 
a  great  crowd  of  people,  by  the  murmur;  and 
that  they  were  not  friendly  to  the  soldiers, 
was  soon  rendered  evident  by  their  yells  and 
hisses.  How  often  and  how  eagerly  he  lis- 
tened for  the  voice  of  Hugh !  No.  There 
was  not  a  voice  he  knew  among  them  all. 
Was  Hugh  a  prisoner  too]  Was  there  no 
hope ! 

As  they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  pri- 
son, the  hootings  of  the  people  grew  more 
violent;  stones  were  thrown  ;  and  every  now 
and  then,  a  rush  was  made  against  the  sol- 
diers, which  they  staggered  under.  One  of 
them,  close  before  him,  smarting  under  a  blow 
upon  the  temple,  levelled  his  musket,  but  the 
officer  struck  it  upwards  with  his  sword,  and 
ordered  him  on  peril  of  his  life  to  desist.  This 
was  the  last  thing  he  saw  with  any  distinct- 
ness, for  directly  afterwards  he  was  tossed 
about,  and  beaten  to  and  fro,  as  though  in  a 
tempestuous  sea.  But  go  where  he  would, 
there  were  the  same  guards  about  him.  Twice 
or  thrice  he  was  thrown  down,  and  so  were 
they ;  but  even  then,  he  could  not  elude  their 
vigilance  for  a  moment.  They  were  up  again, 
and  had  closed  about  him,  before  he,  with  his 
wrists  so  tightly  bound,  could  scramble  to  his 
feet.  Fenced  in,  thus,  he  felt  himself  hoisted 
to  the  top  of  a  low  flight  of  steps,  and  then 
for  a  moment  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
fighting  in  the  crowd,  and  of  a  few  red-coats 
sprinkled  together,  here  and  there,  struggling 
to  rejoin  their  fellows.  Next  moment,  every- 
thing was  dark  and  gloomy,  and  he  was  stand- 
ing in  the  prison  lobby  ;  the  centre  of  a  group 
of  men. 

A  smith  was  speedily  in  attendance,  who 
riveted  upon  him  a  set  of  heavy  irons. 
Stumbling  on  as  well  as  he  could,  beneath 
the  unusual  burden  of  these  fetters,  he  was 
conducted  to  a  strong  stone  cell,  where,  fas- 
tening the  door  with  locks,  and  bolts,  and 
chains,  they  left  him,  well  secured  ;  having 
first,  unseen  by  him,  thrust  in  Grip,  who,  with 
his  head  drooping  and  his  deep  black  plumes 
rough  and  rumpled,  appeared  to  comprehend 
and  to  partake,  his  master's  fallen  fortunes. 


240 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  FIFTY-NINTH. 


It  is  necessary  at  this  juncture  to  return  to 
Hugfh,  who,  having-,  as  we  have  seen,  called 
to  the  rioters  to  disperse  from  about  tlie  War- 
ren, and  meet  again  as  usual,  glided  back 
into  the  darkness  from  which  he  had  emerged, 
and  reappeared  no  more  that  night. 

He  paused  in  the  copse  which  sheltered  him 
from  the  observation  of  his  mad  companions, 
and  waited  to  ascertain  whether  they  drew 
off  at  his  bidding,  or  still  lingered  and  called 
to  him  to  join  them.  Some  few,  he  saw,  were 
indisposed  to  go  away  without  him,  and  made 
towards  the  spot  wtiere  he  stood  concealed, 
as  though  they  were  about  to  follow  in  his 
footsteps,  and  urge  him  to  come  back ;  but 
these  men,  being  in  their  turn  called  to  by 
their  friends,  and  in  truth  not  greatly  caring 
to  venture  into  the  dark  parts  of  the  grounds 
where  tliey  might  be  easily  surprised  and 
taken,  if  any  of  the  neighbours  or  retainers  of 
the  family  were  watching  them  from  among 
the  trees,  soon  abandoned  the  idea,  and  hastily 
assembling  such  men  as  they  found  of  their 
mind  at  the  moment,  straggled  off. 

Wliea  he  was  satisfied  that  the  great  mass 
of  thi!  insurgents  were  imitating  this  example, 
and  that  the  ground  was  rapidly  clearing,  he 
plunged  into  the  thickest  portion  of  the  little 
wood  ;  and  crashing  the  branches  as  he  went, 
made  straight  towards  a  distant  light:  guided 
by  that,  and  by  the  sullen  glow  of  the  fire 
behind  him. 

As  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  twink- 
ling beacon  towards  which  he  bent  his  course, 
the  red  glare  of  a  few  torches  began  to  reveal 
itself,  and  the  voices  of  men  speaking  together 
in  a  subdued  tone,  broke  the  silence,  which, 
save  for  a  distant  shouting  now  and  then,  al- 
ready prevailed.  At  length  he  cleared  the 
wood,  and,  springing  across  a  ditch,  stood  in 
a  dark  lane,  where  a  small  body  of  ill-looking 
vagabonds,  whom  he  had  left  there  some 
twenty  minutes  before,  waited  his  coming 
with  impatience. 

They  were  gathered  round  an  old  post- 
chaise  or  chariot,  driven  by  one  of  themselves, 
who  sat  postilion-wise  upon  the  near  horse. 
The  blinds  were  drawn  up,  and  Mr.  Tappertit 
and  Dennis  kept  guard  at  the  two  windows. 
The  former  assumed  the  command  of  the 
party,  for  he  challenged  Hugh  as  he  advanced 
towards  them;  and  when  he  did  so,  those  who 
were  resting  on  the  ground  about  the  car- 
nage rose  to  their  feet  and  clustered  round 
him. 

"Well  !"  said  Simon,  in  a  low  voice;  "is 
all  right  !" 

"  Right  enough,"  replied  Hugh,  in  the  same 
*one.  "  They  're  dispersing  now — had  begun 
before  I  came  away." 

"  And  is  the  cciast  clear?" 

"  Clear  enough  before  our  men,  I  take  it," 


said  Hugh.  "  There  are  not  many,  who 
knowing  of  their  work  over  yonder,  will  want, 
to  meddle  with  'em  to-night.  —  Who's  got 
some  drink  here]" 

Everybody  had  some  plunder  from  the  cel- 
lar; half-a-dozen  flasks  and  bottles  were  offered 
directly.  He  selected  the  largest,  and  putting 
it  to  his  mouth,  sent  the  wine  gurgling  down 
his  throat.  Having  emptied  it,  he  tiirew  it 
down,  and  stretched  out  his  hand  for  another, 
which  he  emptied  likewise,  at  a  draug-ht. 
Another  was  given  him,  and  this  he  half 
emptied  too.  Reserving  what  remained,  to 
finish  with,  he  asked  : 

"  Have  you  got  anything  to  eat,  any  of 
you?  I'm  as  ravenous  as  a  hungry  wolf. 
Which  of  you  was  in  the  larder — come  !" 

"I  was,  brother,"  said  Dennis,  pulling  oflT 
his  hat,  and  fumbling  in  the  crown.  "There's 
a  matter  of  cold  venison  pasty  somewhere  or 
another  here,  if  that'll  do." 

"Do!"  cried  Hugh,  seating  himself  on  the 
pathway.  "Bring  it  out!  Quick!  Show  a 
light  here,  and  gather  round  !  Let  me  sup  in 
state,  my  lads.     Ha  ha  ha  !" 

Entering  into  his  boisterous  humour,  for 
they  all  had  drunk  deeply  and  were  as  wild  as 
he,  they  crowded  about  him,  while  two  of 
their  number  who  had  torches,  held  them  up, 
one  on  either  side  of  him,  that  his  banquet 
might  not  be  despatched  in  the  dark.  Mr. 
Dennis,  having  by  this  time  succeeded  in  ex- 
tricating from  his  hat  a  great  mass  of  pasty, 
which  had  been  wedged  in  so  tightly  that  it 
was  not  easily  got  out,  put  it  before  him ;  and 
Hugh,  having  borrowed  a  notched  and  jagged 
knife  from  one  of  the  company,  fell  to  work 
upon  it  vigorously. 

"  I  should  recommend  you  to  swallow  a 
little  fire  every  day,  about  an  hour  afore  din- 
ner, brother,"  said  Dennis,  after  a  pause.  "  It 
seems  to  agree  with  you,  and  to  stimulate 
your  appetite." 

Hugh  looked  at  him,  and  at  the  b'ackened 
faces  by  which  be  was  surrounded,  and,  stop- 
ping for  a  moment  to  flourish  his  knifi?  above 
his  head,  answered  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"  Keep  order  there,  will  you  1"  said  Simon 
Tappertit. 

"  VVhy,  isn't  a  man  allowed  to  regale  him- 
self, noble  captain,"  retorted  his  lieutenant, 
parting  the  men  who  stood  between  them, 
with  his  knife,  that  he  might  see  him,  "  te 
regale  himself  a  little  bit,  aftei  such  work  as 
mine?  What  a  hard  captain!  What  a  strict 
captain  !  What  a  tyrannical  captain  !  Ha  ha 
ha  !" 

"  I  wish  one  of  you  fellers  would  hold  a 
bottle  to  his  mouth,  to  keep  him  quiet,"  said 
Simon,  "  unless  you  want  the  military  to  be 
down  upon  us." 

"  And  what  if  they  are  down  upon  us !"  re- 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


241 


torlcd  IIu(,Hi.  "  Who  cares  ?  Who 's  afraid  ]  ] 
Let  'em  come,  I  say,  let  'em  come.  The 
more  the  merrier.  Give  me  bold  Barnaby  at 
my  side,  and  we  two  will  settle  the  military, 
without  troubliniT  any  of  you.  Barnaby  's  the 
man  for  the  military.     Barnaby's  health  !" 

But  as  tlie  majority  of  those  present,  were 
by  no  means  anxious  for  a  second  engagement 
that  night,  being  already  weary  and  exhaust- 
ed, they  sided  with  Mr.  Tappertit,  and  pressed 
him  to  make  haste  with  his  supper,  for  they 
had  already  delayed  loo  long.  Knowing,  even 
in  tiie  lieight  of  his  frenzy,  that  they  incurred 
great  danger  by  lingering  so  near  the  scene 
of  the  late  outrages,  Hugh  made  an  end  of  his 
meal  without  more  remonstrance,  and  rising, 
stepped  up  to  I\Ir.  Tappertit  and  smote  him 
on  the  back. 

"  Now  then,"  he  cried,  "  I  'm  ready.  There 
are  brave  birds  inside  this  cage,  eh  ]  Delicate 
birds, — tender,  loving,  little  doves.  I  caged 
'em — 1  caged  'em — one  more  peep  !" 

He  thrust  the  little  man  aside  as  he  spoke, 
and  mounting  on  the  steps  which  were  half 
iet  down,  pulled  down  the  blind  by  force,  and 
stared  into  the  chaise  like  an  ogre  into  his 
larder. 

"  Ha  ha  ha  !  and  did  you  scratch,  and  pinch, 
and  struggle,  pretty  mistress  1"  he  cried,  as 
he  grasped  a  little  hand  that  sought  in  vain 
to  free  itself  from  his  gripe:  "you,  so  bright- 
eyed,  and  cherry-lipped,  and  daintily  madel 
But  I  love  you  better  for  it,  mistress.  Ay,  I 
do.  You  should  stab  me  and  welcome,  so  that 
it  pleased  you,  and  you  had  to  cure  me  after- 
wards. I  love  to  see  you  proud  and  scornful. 
It  makes  you  handsomer  than  ever;  and  who 
so  handsome  as  you  at  any  time,  my  pretty 
one !" 

"  Come !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  had 
waited  during  this  speech  with  considerable 
impatience.  "  There 's  enough  of  that.  Come 
down." 

The  little  hand  seconded  this  admonition  by 
thrusting  Hugh's  great  head  away  with  all  its 
force,  and  drawing  up  the  blind,  amidst  his 
noisy  laughter,  and  vows  that  he  must  have 
another  look,  for  the  last  glimpse  of  that 
sweet  face  h:id  provoked  him  past  all  bearing. 
However,  as  the  suppressed  impatience  of  the 
party  now  broke  out  into  open  murmurs,  he 
abandoned  this  design,  and  taking  his  seat 
upon  the  bar,  contented  himself  with  tapping 
at  the  front  windows  of  the  carriage,  and  try- 
ing to  steal  a  glance  inside ;  Mr.  Tappertit, 
mounting  the  steps  and  hanging  on  by  the 
door,  issued  his  directions  to  the  driver  with  a 
commanding  voice  and  attitude  ;  the  rest  got 
up  behind,  or  ran  by  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
as  they  could  ;  some,  in  imitation  of  Hugh, 
endeavoured  to  see  the  face  he  had  praised  so 
highly,  and  were  reminded  of  their  imperti- 
nence by  hints  from  the  cudgel  of  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit. Thus  they  pursued  their  journey  by 
circuitous  and  winding  roads  ;  preserving,  ex- 
cept when  they  halted  to  take  breath,  or  to 


quarrel  about  the  best  way  of  rp;»ching  Lon- 
don, pretty  good  order  and  tolerable  silence. 

In  the  mean  time,  Dolly  —  beautiful,  be- 
witciiing,  captivating  little  Dolly  —  her  hair 
dishevelled,  her  dress  torn,  her  dark  eyelashes 
wet  with  tears,  her  bosom  heaving — her  face, 
now  pale  with  fear,  now  crimsoned  with  in- 
dignation—  her  whole  self  a  hundred  times 
more  beautiful  in  this  heightened  aspect  than 
ever  she  had  been  before  —  vainly  strove  to 
comfort  Emma  Haredale,  and  to  impart  to  her 
the  consolation  of  which  she  stood  in  so  much 
need  herself.  The  soldiers  were  sure  to 
come;  they  must  be  rescued;  it  would  be 
impossible  to  convey  them  through  the  streets 
of  London,  when  they  set  the  threats  of  their 
guards  at  defiance,  and  shrieked  to  the  passen- 
gers for  help.  If  they  did  this,  when  they 
came  into  the  more  frequented  ways,  she  was 
certain — she  was  quite  certain — they  must  be 
released.  So  poor  Dolly  said,  and  so  poor 
Dolly  tried  to  think  ;  but  the  invariable  con- 
clusion of  all  such  arguments  was,  that  Dolly 
burst  into  tears;  cried,  as  she  wrung  her 
hands,  what  would  they  do  or  think,  or  who 
would  comfort  them,  at  home,  at  the  Golden 
Key ;  and  sobbed  most  piteously. 

Miss  Haredale,  whose  feelings  were  usually 
of  a  quieter  kind  than  Dolly's,  and  not  so  much 
upon  the  surface,  was  dreadfully  alarmed,  and 
indeed  had  only  just  recovered  from  a  swoon. 
She  was  very  pale,  and  the  hand  which  Dolly 
held  was  quite  cold;  but  she  bade  her,  never- 
theless, remember  that,  under  Providence, 
much  must  depend  on  their  own  discretion; 
that  if  they  remained  quiet,  and  lulled  the 
vigilance  of  the  ruffians  into  whose  hands 
they  had  fallen,  the  chances  of  their  being 
able  to  procure  assistance  when  they  reached 
the  town,  were  very  much  increased  ;  that 
unless  society  were  quite  unhinged,  a  hot  pur- 
suit must  be  immediately  commenced  ;  and 
that  her  uncle,  she  might  be  sure,  would  never 
rest  until  he  had  found  them  out  and  rescued 
them.  But  as  she  said  these  latter  words,  the 
idea  that  he  had  fallen  in  a  general  massacre 
of  the  Catholics  that  night — no  very  wild  or 
improbable  supposition,  after  what  they  had 
seen  and  undergone — struck  her  dumb;  and, 
lost  in  the  horrors  they  had  witnessed,  and 
those  they  might  be  yet  reserved  for,  she  sat 
incapable  of  thought,  or  speech,  or  outward 
show  of  grief:  as  rigid,  and  almost  as  while 
and  cold,  as  marble. 

Oh,  how  many,  many  times,  in  that  long 
ride,  did  Dolly  think  of  her  old  lover — poor, 
fond,  slighted  Joe  !  How  many,  many  limes, 
did  she  recall  that  night  when  she  ran  into 
his  arms  from  the  very  man  now  projecting 
his  hateful  gaze  into  the  darkness  where  she 
sat,  and  leering  through  the  glass,  in  mon- 
strous admiration !  And  when  she  thought 
of  Joe,  and  what  a  brave  fellow  he  was,  and 
how  he  would  have  rode  boldly  up,  and  dashed 
in  among  these  villains  now,  yes,  though  they 
were  double  the  number — and  here  she  clench- 
ed her  little  hand,  and  pressed  her  foot  udou 


242 


BARNABY  R U D GE 


the  ground — the  pride  she  felt  for  a  moment 
in  having  won  his  heart,  faded  in  a  burst  of 
tears,  and  she  sobbed  more  bitterly  than  ever. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  they  proceeded 
by  ways  which  were  quite  unknown  to  them 
— for  tliey  could  recoofiiise  none  of  the  objects 
of  which  they  sometimes  caught  a  hurried 
glimpse — their  fears  increased  ;  nor  were  they 
without  good  foundation;  it  was  not  difficult 
for  two  beautiful  young  women  to  find,  in 
their  being  borne  they  knew  not  whither,  by 
a  band  of  daring  villains  who  eyed  them  as 
some  among  these  fellows  did,  reasons  for  the 
worst  alarm.  When  they  at  last  entered 
London  by  a  suburb  with  which  they  were 
wholly  unacquainted,  it  was  past  midnight, 
and  the  streets  were  dark  and  empty.  Nor 
was  this  the  worst,  for  the  carriage  stopping 
in  a  lonely  spot,  Hugh  suddenly  opened  the 
door,  jumped  in,  and  took  his  seat  between 
them. 

It  was  in  vain  they  cried  for  help.  He  put 
his  arm  about  the  neck  of  each,  and  swore  to 
stifle  them  with  kisses  if  they  were  not  as  si- 
lent as  the  grave. 

'•  I  come  here  to  keep  you  quiet,"  he  said, 
"  and  that's  the  means  I  sliall  take.  So  don't 
be  quiet,  pretty  mistresses — make  a  noise — 
do — and  I  shall  like  it  all  the  better." 

They  were  proceeding  at  a  rapid  pace,  and 
apparently  with  fewer  attendants  than  before, 
though  it  was  so  dark  (the  torches  being  ex- 
tinguished) that  this  was  mere  conjecture. 
They  shrunk  from  his  touch,  each  into  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  carriage;  but  shrink  as 
Dolly  would,  his  arm  encircled  her  waist,  and 
held  her  fast.  She  neither  cried  nor  spoke, 
for  terror  and  disgust  deprived  her  of  the 
power;  but  she  plucked  at  his  hand  as  though 
she  would  die  in  the  effort  to  disengage  her- 
self; and  crouching  on  the  ground,  with  her 
head  averted  and  held  down,  repelled  him 
with  a  strength  she  wondered  at  as  much  as 
he.     The  carriage  stopped  again. 

"  Lift  this  one  out,"  said  Hugh  to  the  m.an 
who  opened  the  door,  as  he  took  Miss  Hare- 
dale's  hand,  and  felt  how  heavily  it  fell. 
"  She  's  fainted." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  growled  Dennis — it 
was  that  amiable  gentleman.  "  She  's  quiet. 
I  always  like  'em  to  faint,  unless  they  're  very 
tender  and  composed." 

"  Can  you  take  her  by  yourself?"  asked 
Hugh. 

"  I  don't  know  till  I  try.  I  ought  to  be  able 
to;  I've  lifted  up  a  good  many  in  my  time," 
said  the  hangman.  "  Up  then  !  She  's  no 
small  weight,  brother  ;  none  of  these  here  fine 
gals  are.     Up  again  !     Now  we  have  it." 

Having  by  this  time  hoisted  the  young  lady 
mto  his  arms,  he  staggered  off  with  his  burden. 

"  Look  ye,  pretty  bird,"  said  Hugh,  draw- 
ing Dolly  towards  him.  "  Remember  what  I 
'olo  you  —  a  kiss  for  pvery  cry.  Scream,  if 
you  love  me,  darline.  Scream  once,  mistress. 
Pretty  mistress,  only  once,  if  you  love  me." 

Thrusting  his  face  away  v.ith  all  her  force, 


and  holding  down  her  head,  Dolly  submitted 
to  be  carried  out  of  the  chaise,  and  borne  after 
Miss  Harcdaleintoa  miserable  cottage,  where 
Hugh,  after  hugging  her  to  his  breast,  set  her 
gently  down  upon  the  floor. 

Poor  Dolly  !  Do  what  she  would,  she  only 
looked  the  better  for  it,  and  tempted  them  the 
more.  When  her  eyes  flashed  angrily,  and 
her  ripe  lips  slightly  parted,  to  give  her  rapid 
breathing  vent,  who  could  resist  it]  W'hen 
she  wept  and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart 
would  break,  and  bemoaned  her  miseries  in 
the  sweetest  voice  that  ever  fell  upon  a  listen- 
er's ear,  who  could  be  insensible  to  the  little 
winning  pettishness  which  now  and  then  dis- 
played itself  even  in  the  sincerity  and  earnest- 
ness of  her  grief?  When,  tbrgetf'ul  tor  a  mo- 
ment of  herself,  as  she  was  now,  she  fell  on 
her  knees  beside  her  friend,  and  bent  over 
her,  and  laid  her  cheek  to  hers,  and  put  her 
arms  about  her,  what  mortal  eyes  could  have 
avoided  wandering  to  the  delicate  boddice,  the 
streaming  hair,  the  neglected  dress,  the  per- 
fect abandonment  and  unconsciousness  of  the 
blooming  little  beauty  ■?  Who  could  look  on 
and  see  her  lavish  caresses  and  endearments, 
and  not  desire  to  be  in  Emma  Harcdale's 
place;  to  be  either  her  or  Dolly ;  either  the 
hugging  or  the  hugged  1  Not  Hugh.  Not 
Dennis. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  women,"  said 
Mr.  Dennis,  "  I  an't  much  of  a  lady's  man 
myself,  nor  am  la  party  in  the  present  busi- 
ness further  than  lending  a  willing  hand  to 
my  friends :  but  if  I  see  much  more  of  this 
here  sort  of  thing,  I  shall  become  a  principal 
instead  of  an  accessory.    I  tell  you  candidly." 

"Why  have  you  brought  us  here!"  said 
Emma.     "  Are  we  to  be  murdered  !" 

"Murdered!"  cried  Dennis,  sitting  down 
upon  a  stool,  and  regarding  her  with  great 
favour.  "  Why,  my  dear,  who'd  murder  sich 
chickabiddies  as  you?  If  you  was  to  ask  me, 
now,  whether  you  was  brought  here  to  be 
married,  there  might  be  something  in  it." 

And  here  he  exchanged  a  grin  with  Hugh, 
who  removed  his  eyes  from  Dolly  for  the  pur- 
pose. ^ 

"No,  no,"  said  Dennis,  "there'll  be  no 
murdering,  my  pets.  Nothing  of  that  sort. 
Quite  the  contrairy." 

"  You  are  an  older  man  than  your  com- 
panion, sir,"  said  Emma,  trembling.  "  Have 
you  no  pity  for  us!  Do  you  not  consider 
that  we  are  women  !" 

"  I  do  indeed,  my  dear,"  retorted  Dennis. 
"It  would  be  very  hard  not  to,  with  two  such 
specimens  afore  my  eyes.  Ha  ha  !  Oh  yes,  I 
consider  that.   We  all  con-sider  that.  Miss." 

He  shook  his  head  waggishly,  leered  at 
Hugh  again,  and  laughed  very  much,  as  if  he 
had  said  a  noble  thing,  and  rather  thought  he 
was  coming  out. 

"  There  'II  be  no  murdering,  my  dear.  Not 
a  bit  on  it.  I  tell  you  what  though,  brother," 
said  Dennis,  cocking  his  hat  for  the  conveni- 
ence  of   scratching   his   head,   and    icikingr 


BARNABY    RUDGE, 


:^13 


gravely  at  IIu?h,  "  it's  worthy  of  notice,  as  a 
proof  of  the  amazina;  equalness  and  dignity  of 
onr  law,  that  it  don't  make  no  distinction  be- 
tween men  and  women.  I  've  heerd  the  jndge 
say,  sometimes,  to  a  highwayman  or  house- 
breaker as  iiad  tied  the  ladies  neck  and  heels — 
you  '11  excuse  me  making  mention  of  it,  my  dar- 
lings— and  put  'em  in  a  cellar,  that  he  showed 
no  consideration  to  women.  Now,  I  say  that 
there  judge  didn't  know  his  business,  brother  ; 
and  that  if  1  had  been  that  there  highwayman 
or  housebreaker,  I  should  have  made  answer: 
'What  are  you  a  talking  of,  my  lord!  I 
showed  the  women  as  much  consideration  as 
the  law  docs,  and  what  more  would  you  have 
me  to  do]'  If  you  vvas  to  count  up  in  the 
newspipers  the  number  of  females  as  iiave 
b^.en  worked  otf  in  this  here  city  alone,  in  the 
last  ten  year,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  thoughtfully, 
"you'd  be  surprised  at  the  total  —  quite 
amazed,  you  would.  Tiiere's  a  dignified  and 
equal  thing  ;  a  beautiful  thing  !  But  we  've 
no  security  fur  its  lasting.  Now  that  they've 
begun  to  favour  these  here  Papists,  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  they  went  and  altered  even  that, 
one  of  these  days.  Upon  my  soul,  I  shouldn't." 

This  subject,  perhaps  from  being  of  too  ex- 
clusive and  professional  a  nature,  failed  to  in- 
terest Hugh  as  much  as  his  friend  had  antici- 
pated. But  he  had  no  time  to  pursue  it,  for 
at  this  crisis  Mr.  Tappertit  entered  precipi- 
tately; at  sight  of  whom,  Dolly  uttered  a 
pcream  of  joy,  and  fairly  threw  herself  into 
his  arms. 

"  I  knew  it,  I  was  sure  of  it!"  cried  Dolly. 
"  My  dear  father's  at  the  door.  Thank  God, 
thank  Giid  !  Bless  you,  Sim  !  Heaven  bless 
nu  for  this!" 

Simon  Tappertit,  who  had  at  first  implicitly 


believed  that  the  locksmith's  daughter,  imable 
any  longer  to  suppress  her  secret  passion  for 
himself,  was  about  to  give  it  full  vent  in  its 
intensity,  and  to  declare  that  she  was  his  for 
ever,  looked  extremely  foolish  when  she  said 
these  words ; — the  more  so,  as  they  were  r&. 
ceived  by  Hugii  and  Dennis  with  a  loud 
laugh,  which  niade  her  draw  back,  and  regard 
him  with  a  fixed  and  earnest  look. 

"Miss  Haredale,"  said  Sim,  after  a  very 
awkward  silence,  "  I  hope  you  're  as  comfort- 
able as  circumstances  will  permit  of.  Dolly 
Varden,  my  darling — my  own,  my  lovely  one 
— I  hope  you  're  pretty  comfortable  likewise." 

Poor  little  Dolly  !  She  saw  how  it  was ; 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands;  and  sobbed  more 
bitterly  than  ever. 

"  You  meet  in  me.  Miss  V.,"  said  Simon, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  breast,  "  not  a  'pren- 
tice, not  a  workman,  not  a  slave,  not  the  vic- 
tim of  your  father's  tyrannical  behaviour,  but 
the  leader  of  a  great  people,  the  captain  of  a 
noble  band,  in  which  these  gentlemen  are,  as 
I  may  say,  corporals  and  serjoants.  You  be- 
hold in  me,  not  a  private  individual,  but  a 
public  character;  not  a  mender  of  locks,  but 
a  healer  of  the  woundsof  his  unhappy  country. 
Dolly  v.,  sweet  Dolly  v.,  for  how  many  years 
have  Hooked  forward  to  this  meeting!  For  how 
many  years  has  it  been  my  intention  to  exalt 
and  ennoble  you  !  I  redeem  it.  Behold  in  me, 
your  husband.  Yes,  beautiful  Dolly — charmer 
— enslaver — S,  Tappertit  is  all  your  own  !" 

Ashe  said  these  words  he  advanced  towards 
her.  Dolly  retreated  till  she  could  go  no 
farther,  and  then  sank  down  upon  the  floor. 
Thinking  it  very  possible  that  this  might  be 
maiden  modesty,  Simon  essayed  to  raise  her ; 
on  which  Dolly,  goaded  to  desperation,  wound 


244 


BARNABY    RUDUE. 


her  hands  in  his  hair,  and  crying  out  amidst 
.-.er  tears  that  he  was  a  dreadful  little  wretch, 
"nd  always  had  been,  shook,  and  pulled,  and 
bieat  him,  until  he  was  fain  to  call  for  help, 
most  lustily.  Hufrh  had  never  admired  her 
half  so  much  as  at  that  moment. 

"  She 's  in  an  excited  state  to-night,"  said 
Simon,  as  he  smoothed  his  rumpled  feathers, 
"and  don't  know  when  she's  well  off.  Let 
her  be  by  herself  till  to-morrow,  and  that'll 
bring  her  down  a  little.  Carry  her  into  the 
next  house  !" 

Hugh  had  her  in  his  arms  directly.  It 
might  be  that  Mr.  Tappertit's  heart  was  really 
softened  by  lier  distress,  or  it  might  be  that  he 
felt  it  in  some  degree  indecorous  that  his  in- 
tended bride  should  be  struggling  in  the  grasp 
of  another  man.  He  commanded  him,  on 
second  thoughts,  to  put  her  down  again  ;  and 
looked  moodily  on  as  she  flew  to  Miss  Hare- 
dale's  side,  and  clinging  to  her  dress,  hid  her 
flushed  face  in  its  folds. 

"  They  shall  remain  here  together  till  to- 
morrow," said  Simon,  who  had  now  quite  reco- 
vered his  dignity  —  "  till  to-morrow.  Come 
away !" 

"  Ay  !"  cried  Hugh.  "  Come  away,  captain. 
Ha  ha  ha !" 

"What  are  you  laughing  at  f  demanded 
Simon  sternly. 

"  Nothing,  captain,  nothing,"  Hugh  rejoin- 
ed ;  and  as  he  spoke,  and  clapped  his  hand 
upon  the  shoulder  of  the  little  man,  he  laughed 
again,  for  some  unknown  reason,  with  tenfold 
violence. 

Mr.  Tappertit  surveyed  him  from  head  to 
foot  with  lofty  scorn,  (this  only  made  him  laugh 
the  more,)  and  turning  to  the  prisoners,  said : 

"  You'll  take  notice,  ladies,  that  this  place 
is  well  watched  on  every  side,  and  that  the 
least  noise  is  certain  to  be  attended  with  un- 
pleasant consequences.  You  'II  hear — both  of 
you  —  more  of  our  intentions  to-morrow.  In 
the  mean  time,  don't  show  yourselves  at  the 
window,  or  appeal  to  any  of  the  people  you 
may  sec  pass  it;  for  if  you  do,  it'll  be  known 
directly  that  you  come  "from  a  Catholic  house, 
and  all  the  exertions  our  men  can  make,  may 
not  be  able  to  save  your  lives." 

With  this  last  caution,  which  was  true 
enough,  he  turned  to  the  door,  followed  by 
Hugh  and  Dennis.  They  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment, g-omg  out,  to  look  at  them  clasped  in 


each  other's  arms,  and  then  left  the  cottage; 
fastenirig  the  door,  and  setting  a  goofl  watch 
upon  it,  and  indeed  all  round  the  house. 

"I  say,"  growled  Dennis,  as  they  walked 
away  in  company,  "that's  a  dainty  pair. 
Muster  Gashford's  one  is  as  handsome  as  the 
other,  eh  7" 

"  Hush  !"  said  Hugh,  hastily.  "  Don't  you 
mention  names.     It's  a  bad  habit." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  him,  then,  (as  you 
don't  like  names,)  when  he  breaks  it  out  to 
her;  that's  all,"  said  Dennis.  "She's  one 
of  them  fine,  black-eyed,  proud  gals,  as  I 
wouldn't  trust  at  such  times  with  a  knife  too 
near  'em.  I  've  seen  some  of  that  sort,  afore 
now.  I  recollect  one  that  was  worked  oft^ 
many  year  ago — and  there  was  a  gentleman 
in  that  case  too — that  says  to  me,  with  her 
lip  a  trembling,  but  her  hand  as  steady  as 
ever  I  see  one  ;  '  Dennis,  I  'm  near  my  end, 
but  if  I  had  a  dagger  in  these  fingers,  and  he 
was  within  my  reach,  I'd  strike  him  dead 
afore  me  ;' — ah,  she  did — and  she  'd  have  done 
it  too !" 

"  Strike  who  dead?"  demanded  Hugh. 

"  How  should  I  know,  brother  V  answered 
Dennis.  "  She  never  said  ;  not  she." 

Hugh  looked  for  a  moment,  as  though  he 
would  have  made  some  further  inquiry  into 
this  incoherent  recollection  ;  but  Simon  Tap- 
pertit, who  had  been  meditating  deeply,  gave 
his  thoughts  a  new  direction. 

"  Hugh  !"  said  Sim.  "  You  have  done  well 
to-day.  You  siiall  be  rewarded.  So  have 
you,  Dennis. — There's  no  young  woman  you 
want  to  carry  off,  is  there  ]" 

"  N — no,"  returned  that  gentleman,  strok- 
ing his  grizzled  beard,  wiiich  was  some  two 
inches  long.     "None  in  partickler,  I  think." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Sim  ;  "  then  we  '11  find 
some  other  way  of  making  it  up  to  you.  Aa 
to  you,  old  boy," — he  turned  to  Hugh — "you 
shall  have  Miggs  (her  that  I  promi.-^ed  you, 
you  know,)  within  three  days.  Mind.  I  pass 
my  word  for  it." 

Hugh  thanked  him  heartily  ;  and  as  he  did 
so,  his  laughing  fit  returned  with  such  vio- 
lence that  he  was  obliged  to  hold  his  side 
with  one  hand,  and  to  lean  with  the  other  on 
the  shoulder  of  his  small  captain,  without 
whose  support  he  would  certainly  have  rolled 
upon  the  ground. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


245 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTIETH. 


The  three  wortliies  turned  their  faces  to- 
wards the  Bdot,  with  the  intention  of  passinjj 
the  niofht  in  that  phice  of  rendezvous,  and  of 
seekintj  the  ropose  tiiey  so  much  needed  in 
the  shelter  of  their  old  den  ;  for  now  that  the 
mischief  and  destruction  they  had  purposed 
were  achieved,  and  their  prisoners  were  safely 
bestowed  for  the  night,  they  beijan  to  be  con- 
scious of  exhaustion,  and  to  feel  the  vvastinir 
effects  of  the  madness  which  had  led  to  such 
deplorable  results. 

Notwithstanding  the  lassitude  and  fatigue 
which  oppressed  him  now,  in  common  with 
his  two  companions,  and  indeed  with  all  who 
had  talcen  an  active  share  in  that  night's 
work,  Hugh's  boisterous  merriment  broke  out 
afresh  whenever  he  looked  at  Simon  Tapper- 
tit,  and  vented  itself —  much  to  that  gentle- 
man's indignation — in  such  shouts  of  laughter 
as  bade  fair  to  bring  the  watch  upon  them,  and 
involve  them  in  a  skirmish,  to  which  in  their 
present  worn-out  condition  they  might  prove 
by  no  means  equal.  Even  Mr.  Dennis,  who 
was  not  at  all  particular  on  the  score  of 
gravity  or  dignity,  and  who  had  a  great  relish 
for  his  young  friend's  eccentric  humours,  took 
occasion  to  remonstrate  with  him  on  this  im- 
prudent behaviour,  which  he  held  to  be  a 
species  of  suicide,  tantamount  to  a  man's 
working  himself  off  without  being  overtaken 
by  the  law,  than  which  he  could  imagine  no- 
thing more  ridiculous  or  impertinent. 

Not  abatinsr  one  jot  of  his  noisy  mirth  for 
these  remonstrances,  Hugh  reeled  along  be- 
tween them,  having  an  arm  of  each,  until  they 
hove  in  sight  of  the  Boot,  and  were  within  a 
field  or  two  of  that  convenient  tavern.  He 
happened  by  great  eood  luck  to  have  roared 
and  shouted  himself  into  silence  by  this  time. 
They  were  proceeding  onward  without  noise, 
when  a  scout  who  had  been  creeping  about 
the  ditches  all  night,  to  warn  any  stragglers 
from  encroaching  further  on  what  was  now 
such  dangerous  ground,  peeped  cautiously 
from  his  hiding-place,  and  called  to  them  to 
stop. 

"  Stop!  and  why  ?"  said  Hugh. 

Because  (the  scout  replied)  the  house  was 
filled  with  constables  and  soldiers;  having 
been  surprised,  that  afternoon.  The  inmates 
had  fled  or  been  taken  into  custody,  he  could 
not  say  which.  He  had  prevented  a  great 
many  people  from  approaching  nearer,  and  he 
believed  they  had  gone  to  the  markets  and 
such  places  to  pass  the  night.  He  had  seen 
the  distant  fires,  but  they  were  all  out  now. 
He  had  heard  the  people  who  passed  and  re- 
passed, speaking  of  them  too,  and  could  report 
that  the  prevailing  opinion  was  one  of  appre- 
hension and  dismay.  He  had  not  heard  a 
word  of  Barnaby — didn't  even  know  his  name 
—  but  it  had  been  said  in  his  hearing  that 
IG 


I  some  man  had  been  taken  and  carried  off  [•< 
Newgate.  Whether  this  was  true  or  false,  he 
I  could  not  affirm. 

The  three  took  counsel  together,  on  hear- 
ing this,  and  debated  what  it  might  be  bosi 
I  to  do.  Hugh,  deeming  it  possible  that  Barna- 
i  by  was  in  the  hands  of  the  soldiers,  and  at 
that  moment  under  detention  at  tlie  Boot,  was 
for  advancing  stealthily,  and  firing  the  house; 
but  his  companions,  who  objected  to  such  rash 
measures  unless  they  had  a  crowd  at  their 
backs,  represented  that  if  Barnaby  were  taken 
he  had  assuredly  been  removed  to  a  stronger 
prison :  they  would  never  have  dreamed  of 
keeping  him  all  niirht  in  a  place  so  weak  and 
open  to  attack.  Yielding  to  this  reasoning!-, 
and  to  their  persuasions,  HiijTh  consented  to 
turn  back,  and  to  repair  to  Fleet  Market;  for 
which  place,  it  seemed,  a  few  of  their  boldest 
associates  had  shaped  their  course,  on  receiv- 
ing the  same  intelligence. 

Feeling  their  strength  recruited  and  their 
spirits  roused,  now  that  there  was  a  new  ne- 
cessity for  action,  they  hurried  away,  quite 
fiirgetful  of  the  fatigue  under  which  they  had 
been  sinking  but  a  few  minutes  before  ;  and 
soon  arrived  at  their  place  of  destination. 

Fleet  Market,  at  that  time,  was  a  hjiig,  ir- 
regular row  of  woo;len  sheds  and  pent-houses, 
occupying  the  centre  of  what  is  now  calKd 
Farringdon  Street.  They  were  jumbled  to- 
gether in  a  most  unsightly  fashion,  in  the 
middle  of  the  road  ;  to  the  great  obstruction  of 
the  thoroughfare  and  the  annoyance  of  pas- 
sengers, who  were  fain  to  make  their  way,  a? 
they  best  could,  among  carts,  baskets,  barrows, 
trucks,  casks,  bulks,  and  benches,  and  to  jostli; 
with  porters,  hucksters,  wagoners,  and  a 
motley  crowd  of  buyers,  sellers,  pickpockets, 
vagrants,  and  idlers.  The  air  was  perfum^'(l 
with  the  stench  of  rotten  leaves  and  faded 
fruit;  the  refuse  of  the  butchers'  stalls,  and 
oftiil  and  garbage  of  a  hundred  kinds:  it  was 
indispensable  to  most  public  conveniences  in 
those  days,  that  they  should  be  public  nuisances 
likewise;  and  Fleet  Market  maintained  the 
principle  to  admiration. 

To  this  place,  perhaps  because  its  sheds  and 
baskets  were  a  tolerable  sub.-,titute  for  beds, 
or  perhaps  because  it  afforded  the  means  of  a 
hasty  barricade  in  case  f>f  need,  many  of  the 
rioters  had  straggled,  not  only  that  night,  bnt 
for  two  or  three  nights  bf^fore.  It  was  nov,^ 
broad  day,  but  the  morning  being  cold,  a  group 
of  them  were  gathered  round  a  fire  in  a  pub- 
lie-house,  drinking  hot  purl,  and  smoking 
pipes,  and  planning  new  schemes  for  to-mor- 
row. 

Hugh  and  his  two  friends  being  known  to 
most  of  these  men,  were  received  with  signal 
marks  of  approbation,  and  inducted  into  the 
most  honourable  seats.     The  room-door  wai 


246 


BARNABY  RU  DGE. 


dosed  and  fastened  to  keep  intruders  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  then  they  proceeded  to  exchange 
news. 

"  The  soldiers  have  taken  possession  of  the 
Boot,  I  hear,"  said  Hugh.  "  Who  knows 
anytiiing  about  itV 

Several  cried  that  they  did  ;  but  the  majority 
of  the  company  having  been  engaged  in  the 
assault  upon  the  Warren,  and  all  present  hav- 
ing been  concerned  in  one  or  other  of  the 
night's  expeditions,  it  proved  that  they  knew 
no  more  than  Hugh  himself;  having  been 
merely  warned  by  each  other,  or  by  the  scout, 
and  knowing  nothing  of  their  own  knowledge. 

"  We  left  a  man  on  guard  there  to-day," 
said  Hugh,  looking  round  him,  "  who  is  not 
here.  You  know  who  it  is  —  Barnaby,  who 
brought  the  soldier  down,  at  Westmmster. 
Has  any  man  seen  or  heard  of  him  ]" 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  murmured  an 
answer  in  tije  negative,  as  each  man  looked 
round  and  appealed  to  his  fellow;  when  a 
noise  was  heard  without,  and  a  man  was 
heard  to  say  that  he  wanted  Hugh — that  he 
must  see  Hugh. 

"  He  is  but  one  man,"  cried  Hugh  to  those 
who  kept  the  door;  "  let  him  come  in." 

"  Ay,  ay  !"  muttered  the  others.  "  Let  him 
come  in.     Let  him  come  in." 

The  door  was  accordingly  unlocked  and 
opened.  A  one-armed  man,  with  his  head  and 
face  tied  up  with  a  bloody  cloth,  as  though  he 
had  been  severely  beaten,  his  clothes  torn, 
und  his  remaining  hand  grasping  a  thick  stick, 
rushed  in  among  them,  and  panting  for  breath, 
demanded  which  was  Hugh. 

"  Here  he  is,"  replied  the  person  inquired 
f  jf.  "  I  am  Hugh.  What  do  you  want  with 
me]" 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you,"  said  the  man. 
"  You  know  one  Barnaby." 

"  What  of  him"!  Did  he  send  the  message?" 

"  Yes.  He  's  taken.  He  's  in  one  of  the 
strong  ceils  in  Newgate.  He  defended  him- 
self as  well  as  he  could,  but  was  ovorpov/ered 
by  numbers.     That 's  his  message." 

"  When  did  you  see  him  T'  asked  Hugh, 
hastily. 

"  On  his  way  to  prison,  where  he  was  taken 
ly  a  party  of  soldiers.  They  took  a  by-road. 
Bind  not  the  one  we  expected.  I  was  one  of 
thu  few  who  tried  to  rescue  him,  and  he  called 
I')  nie,  and  told  me  to  tell  Hugh  where  he 


was.  We  made  a  good  struggle,  though  it 
failed.     Look  here  !" 

He  pointed  to  his  dress,  and  to  his  bandaged 
head,  and  still  canting  for  breath,  glanced 
round  the  room  ;  then  faced  towards  Hugh 
again. 

"  I  know  you  by  sight,"  he  said.  '•  for  1  wcs 
in  the  crowd  on  Friday,  and  on  Saturday,  and 
yesterday,  but  I  didn't  know  your  name. 
You  're  a  bold  fellow,  1  know.  So  is  he.  He 
fought  like  a  lion  to-night,  but  it  was  of  no 
use.  /did  my  best,  considering  that  I  want 
this  limb." 

Again  he  glanced  inquisitively  round  the 
room  —  or  seemed  to  do  so,  for  his  face  was 
nearly  hidden  by  the  bandage  —  and  again 
facing  sharply  towards  Hugh,  grasped  his 
stick  as  if  he  half  expected  to  be  set  upon,  and 
stood  on  the  defensive. 

If  he  had  any  such  apprehension,  however, 
he  was  speedily  re-assured  by  the  demeanour 
of  all  present.  None  thought  of  the  bearer  of 
the  tidings.  He  was  lost  in  the  news  he 
brought.  Oaths,  threats,  and  execrations, 
were  vented  on  all  sides.  Some  cried  that  if 
they  bore  this  tamely,  another  day  would  see 
them  all  in  jail  ;  some,  that  they  should  have 
rescued  the  otiier  prisoners,  and  this  would 
not  have  happened.  One  man  cried  in  a  loud 
voice,  "  Who'll  follow  me  to  Newgate  !"  and 
there  was  a  loud  shout,  and  a  general  rush 
towards  the  door. 

But  Hufrh  and  Dennis  stood  with  their 
backs  against  it,  and  kept  them  back,  until 
the  clamour  had  so  far  subsided  that  their 
voices  could  be  heard,  when  they  called  to 
them  together  that  to  go  now,  in  broad  day, 
would  be  madness;  and  that  if  they  v/aited 
until  night  and  arranged  a  plan  of  attack, 
they  might  release,  not  only  their  own  com- 
panions, but  all  the  prisoners,  and  burn  down 
the  jail. 

"Not  that  jail  alone,"  cried  Hugh,  "but 
every  jail  in  London.  They  shall  have  no 
place  to  put  their  prisoners  in.  We  'II  bnrn 
them  all  down;  make  bonfires  of  them  every 
one!  Here!"  he  cried,  catching  at  the  hang- 
man's hand.  "  Let  all  who  're  men  here,  join 
with  us.  Shake  hands  upon  it.  Barnaby  out 
of  jail,  and  not  a  jail  left  standing  I  Who 
joins  !" 

Every  man  there.  And  they  swore  a  great 
oath  to  release  their  friends  from  Newgate 
next  night;  to  force  the  doors  and  burn  the 
jail ;  or  perish  in  the  fire  themselves. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-FIRST. 


On  that  same  night — events  so  crowd  upon 
•;ach  other  in  convulsed  and  distracted  times, 
th  it  more  than  the  stirrinjr  incidents  of  a  whole 
life  often  hecome  compressed  into  the  compass 
of  foil r-and-twenty  hours — on  that  samcni^rht, 
Mr.  Ilaredalo,  having  strongly  hound  liis 
prisoner,  witli  the  assistance  of  the  sexton, 
nnd  forced  him  to  mount  his  horse,  conducted 
liim  to  Cliigwell  ;  bent  upon  procuring  a  con- 
veyance 10  London  from  that  phce,  and  carry- 
ing him  at  once  before  a  justice.  The  dis- 
turbed state  of  the  town  would  be,  he  knew, 
a  sufficient  reason  for  demanding  the  murder- 
er's committal  to  prison  before  daybreak,  as 
no  man  could  answer  for  the  security  of  any 
of  the  watch-houses  or  ordinary  places  of  de- 
tention; and  to  convey  a  prisoner  through  the 
streets  when  the  mob  were  again  abroad, 
would  not  only  be  a  task  of  great  danger  and 
hazard,  but  would  be  to  challenge  an  attempt 
at  rescue.  Directing  the  sexton  to  lead  the 
horse,  he  walked  close  by  the  murderer's  side, 
and  in  tliis  order  they  reached  the  village 
about  the  middle  of  the  night. 

The  people  were  all  awake  and  up,  for  they 
were  fearful  of  being  burnt  in  their  bods,  and 
Fouirht  to  comfort  and  assure  each  other  by 
watching  in  company.  A  few  of  the  stoutest- 
hearted  were  armed  and  gathered  in  a  body 
on  the  green.  To  these,  who  knew  him  well, 
Mr.  Ilaredale  addressed  himself,  briefly  nar- 
rating what  had  happened,  and  beseeching 
them  to  aid  in  conveying  the  criminal  to  Lon- 
don before  the  dawn  of  day. 

But  not  a  man  among  them  dared  to  help 
him  by  so  much  as  the  motion  of  a  finger. 
The  rioters,  in  their  passage  through  the  vil- 
lage, had  menaced  with  their  fiercest  ven- 
geance, any  person  who  should  aid  in  extin- 
guishing the  fire,  or  render  the  least  assistance 
to  him,  or  any  Catholic  whomsoever.  Their 
threats  extended  to  their  lives  and  all  that 
they  possessed.  They  were  assembled  for 
their  own  protection,  and  could  not  endanger 
themselves  by  lending  any  aid  to  him.  This 
they  told  him,  not  without  hesitation  and  re- 
gret, as  they  kept  aloof  in  the  moonlight,  and 
glanced  fearfully  at  the  ghostly  rider,  who, 
with  his  head  drooping  on  his  breast,  and  his 
hat  slouched  down  upon  his  brow,  neither 
moved  nor  spoke. 

Finding  it  impossible  to  persuade  them,  and 
indeed  hardly  knowing  how  to  do  so  after 
what  they  had  seen  of  the  fury  of  the  crowd, 
Mr.  Haredale  besought  them  that  at  least  they 
would  leave  him  free  to  act  for  himself,  and 
would  suffer  him  to  take  the  only  chaise  and 
pair  of  horses  that  the  place  afforded.  This 
was  not  acceded  to  without  some  difficulty, 
but  in  the  end  they  told  him  to  do  what  he 
would,  and  to  go  away  from  them  in  heaven's 
name. 


Leaving  the  sexton  at  the  horse's  bridle,  he 
drew  out  the  chaise  with  his  own  hands,  ana 
would  have  harnessed  the  horses,  but  that  the 
postboy  of  the  village  —  a  soft-hearted,  good- 
for-nothing,  vagabond  kind  of  fellow  —  was 
moved  by  his  earnestne!s.s  and  passion,  and, 
throwing  down  a  pitchfork  with  which  he  was 
armed,  swore  that  the  rioters  might  cut  him 
into  mince-meat  if  they  liked,  but  he  would 
not  stand  by  and  see  an  honest  gentleman  who 
had  done  no  wrong,  reduced  to  such  e.vtiemity, 
without  doing  what  he  could  to  help  iiim. 
Mr.  Ilaredale  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand, 
and  thanked  him  from  his  lieart.  In  five 
minutes'  time  the  chaise  was  ready,  and  this 
good  scapegrace  in  his  saddle.  The  murderer 
was  put  inside,  the  blinds  were  drawn  up,  the 
sexton  took  his  seat  upon  the  bar,  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  close  beside 
the  door;  and  so  they  started  in  the  dead  of 
night,  and  in  profound  silence,  for  London. 

The  consternation  was  so  extreme  that  even 
the  horses  which  had  escaped  the  flames  at 
the  Warren,  could  find  no  friends  to  shelter 
them.  They  passed  them  on  the  road,  brows- 
ing on  the  stunted  grass;  and  the  driver  told 
them  that  the  poor  beasts  had  wandered  to 
the  village  first,  but  had  been  driven  away, 
lest  they  should  bring  the  vengeance  of  the 
crowd  on  any  of  the  inhabitants. 

Nor  was  this  feeling  confined  to  such  small 
places,  where  the  people  were  timid,  ignorant, 
and  unprotected.  When  they  came  near  Lon- 
don, they  met,  in  the  grey  light  of  morning, 
more  than  one  poor  Catholic  family,  who,  ter- 
rified by  the  threats  and  warnings  of  their 
neighbours,  were  quitting  the  city  on  foot, 
and  who  told  them  they  could  hire  no  cart  or 
horse  for  the  removal  of  their  goods,  and  had 
been  compelled  to  leave  them  behind,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  crowd.  Near  Mile-end  they 
passed  a  house,  the  master  of  which,  a  Catho- 
lic gentleman  of  small  means,  having  hired  a 
wagon  to  remove  his  furniture  by  midnight, 
had  had  it  all  brought  down  into  the  street,  to 
wait  the  vehicle's  arrival,  and  save  time  in  the 
packing.  But  the  man  with  whom  he  made 
the  bargain,  alarmed  by  the  fires  that  night, 
and  by  the  sight  of  the  rioters  passing  his 
door,  had  refused  to  keep  it:  and  the  poor 
gentleman,  with  his  wife  and  servant,  and 
their  little  children,  were  sitting  tremblingr 
among  their  goods  in  the  open  street,  dreading 
the  arrival  of  day,  and  not  knowing  where  to 
turn,  or  what  to  do. 

It  was  the  same,  they  heard,  with  the  public 
conveyances.  The  panic  was  so  great  that 
the  mails  and  stage-coaches  were  afraid  t(» 
carry  passengers  who  professed  the  obnoxious 
religion.  If  the  drivers  knew  them,  or  they 
admitted  that  they  held  that  creed,  they  would 
not  take  them,  no,  though  tliey  offered  largo 


248 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


sums;  and  yestprday,  people  had  been  afraid 
to  recofjnise  Catholic  acquaintance  in  the 
streets,  lest  they  should  be  marked  by  spies, 
and  burnt  out,  as  it  was  called,  in  conse- 
quence. One  mild  old  man — a  priest,  whose 
chapel  was  destroyed  ;  a  very  feeble,  patient, 
inoffensive  creature — who  was  trudging  away, 
alone,  designing  to  walk  some  distance  from 
town,  and  then  try  his  fortune  with  the  coaches, 
told  Mr.  Haredale  that  he  feared  he  might  not 
find  a  magistrate  who  would  have  the  hardi- 
hood to  commit  a  prisoner  to  jail,  on  his  com- 
plaint. But  notwithstanding  these  discour- 
aging accounts,  they  went  on,  and  reached  the 
Mansion  House  soon  after  sunrise, 

Mr.  Haredale  threw  himself  from  his  horse, 
but  he  had  no  need  to  knock  at  the  door,  for  it 
was  already  open,  and  there  stood  upon  the 
step  a  poitly  old  man,  with  a  very  red,  or 
rather  purple  face,  who,  with  an  anxious  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  was  remonstrating 
with  some  unseen  person  up-stairs,  while  the 
porter  essayed  to  close  the  door  by  degrees 
and  get  rid  of  him.  With  the  intense  impa- 
tience and  excitement  natural  to  one  in  his 
condition,  Mr.  Haredale  thrust  himself  for- 
ward and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  fat 
old  gentleman  interposed : 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  he,  "  pray  let  me  get 
an  answer.  This  is  the  sixth  time  I  have  been 
here.  I  was  here  five  times  yesterday.  My 
house  is  threatened  with  destruction.  It  is 
to  be  burned  down  to-night,  and  was  to  have 
been  last  night,  but  they  had  other  business 
on  their  hands.    Pray  let  me  get  an  answer." 

"  My  good  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale, 
shaking  his  head,  "my  house  is  burned  to  the 
ground.  But  God  forbid  that  yours  should  be. 
Get  your  answer.   Be  brief,  in  mercy  to  me," 

"  Now,  you  hear  this,  my  Lord  ?" — said  the 
old  gentleman,  calling  up  the  stairs,  to  where 
the  skirt  of  a  dressing-gown  fluttered  on  the 
landing-place,  "  Here  is  a  gentleman  here, 
whose  house  was  actually  burnt  down  last 
night." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  replied  a  testy  voice, 
"I  am  very  sorry  for  it,  but  what  am  I  to  do  1 
I  can't  build  it  up  again.  The  chief  magis- 
trate of  the  city  can't  go  and  be  a  rebuilding 
of  people's  houses,  my  good  sir.  Stuff  and 
nonsense !" 

"  But  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  city  can 
prevent  people's  housi^s  from  having  any  need 
to  be  rebuilt,  if  the  chief  magistrate's  a  man, 
and  not  a  dummy — can't  he,  my  Lord  1"  cried 
the  old  gentleman  in  a  choleric  manner. 

"  You  are  disrespectable,  sir,"  said  the  Lord 
Mayor — "  leastways,  disrespectful  I  mean." 

"  Disrespectful,  my  Lord  !"  returned  the 
old  gentleman.  "I  was  respectful  five  times 
yesterday,  I  can't  be  respectful  for  ever. 
Men  can't  stand  on  being  respectful  when 
their  houses  are  going  to  be  burnt  over  their 
neads,  with  them  in  'em.  What  am  I  to  do, 
my  Lord  ]  Am  1  to  have  any  protection  !" 

"  I  *oId  you  yesterday,  sir,"  said  the  Lord 


Mayor,  "  that  you  might  have  an  alderman 
in  your  house,  if  you  could  get  one  to  come." 
"  What  the  devil's  the  good  of  an  alder- 
man ]"  returned  the  choleric  old  gentleman. 
"  — To  awe  the  crowd,  sir,"  said  the  Lord 
Mayor. 

"  Oh  Lord  ha'  mercy  !"  whimpered  the  old 
gentleman,  as  he  wiped  his  forehead  in  a  state 
of  ludicrous  distress,  "  to  think  of  sending  an 
alderman  to  awe  a  crowd  !  Why,  my  Lord, 
if  they  were  even  so  many  babies,  fed  on  mo- 
ther's milk,  what  do  you  think  they'd  care 
for  an  alderman  !  Will  you  come?" 

"  I !"  said  the  Lord  Mayor,  most  emphati- 
cally :  "  Certainly  not." 

"Then  what,"  returned  the  old  gentleman, 
"what  am  I  to  do?  Am  I  a  citizen  of  Eng- 
land! Am  I  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  laws'? 
Am  I  to  have  any  return  for  the  King's 
Taxes ]" 

"1  don't  know,  I  am  sure,"  said  the  Lord 
Mayor  ;  "  what  a  pity  it  is  you  're  a  Catholic ! 
Why  couldn't  you  be  a  Protestant,  and  then 
you  wouldn't  have  got  yourself  into  such  a 
mess?  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what's  to  be 
done. — There  are  great  people  at  the  bottom 
of  these  riots. — Oh  dear  me,  what  a  thmg  it 
is  to  be  a  public  character ! — You  must  look 
in  again  in  the  course  of  the  day. — Would  a 
javelin-man  do  1 — Or  there 's  Phillips  the  con- 
stable,— /ie's  disengaged, — he's  not  very  old 
for  a  man  at  his  time  of  life,  except  in  his 
legs,  and  if  you  put  him  up  at  a  window  he  'd 
look  quite  young  by  candle-light,  and  might 
frighten  'em  very  much. — Oh  dear  ! — well,— 
we'll  see  about  it." 

"  Stop !"  cried  Mr,  Haredale,  pressing  the 
door  open  as  the  porter  strove  to  shut  it,  and 
speaking  rapidly,  "My  Lord  Mayor,  I  beg 
you  not  to  go  away.  1  have  a  man  here,  who 
committed  a  murder  eight-and-twenty  years 
ago.  Half-a-dozen  words  from  me,  on  oath, 
will  justify  you  in  committing  him  to  prison 
for  re-examination.  I  only  seek,  just  now,  to 
have  him  consigned  to  a  place  of  safety. 
The  least  delay  may  involve  his  being  rescu- 
ed by  the  rioters." 

"  Oh  dear  me !"  cried  the  Lord  Mayor. 
"  God  bless  my  soul — and  body — oh  Lor  ! — ■ 
well  I ! — there  are  great  people  at  the  bot- 
tom of  these  riots,  you  know.  —  You  really 
mustn't." 

"  My  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  the  mur- 
dered gentleman  was  my  brother  ;  I  succeed* 
ed  to  his  inheritance;  there  were  not  want- 
ing slanderous  tongues  at  that  time,  to  whis- 
per tiiat  the  guilt  of  this  most  foul  and  cruel 
deed  was  mine — mine,  who  loved  him,  as  he 
knows,  in  Heaven,  dearly.  The  time  has 
come,  after  all  these  years  of  gloom  and  mis- 
ery, for  avenging  him,  and  bringing  to  light  a 
crime  so  artful  and  so  devilish  that  it  lias  no 
parallel.  Every  second's  delay  on  your  part 
loosens  this  man's  bloody  hands  again,  and 
leads  to  his  escape.  My  Lord,  I  charge  you 
hear  me,  and  despatch  this  matter  on  the  Jn« 
stant." 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


249 


"  Oh  dear  mc !"  cried  the  chief  magistrate ; 
•  these  an't  business  hours,  you  know —  I  won- 
der at  you — how  untrentlemanly  it  is  of  you — 
you  mustn't — you  really  mustn't. — And  1  sup- 
pose yon  are  a  Catholic  too  ?" 

'*  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Haredaie. 

"God  bless  my  soul,  I  believe  people  turn 
Catholics  a'  purpose  to  vex  and  worrit  me," 
cried  the  Lord  IMayor.  "I  wish  you  wouldn't 
come  here;  they'll  be  settinor  the  Mansion 
House  atire  next,  and  we  shall  have  you  to 
thank  for  it.  You  must  lock  your  prisoner  up, 
sir, — give  him  to  a  watchman  —  and  —  and 
call  ajrain  at  a  proper  time.  Then  we'll  see 
about  it!" 

Before  Mr.  Haredaie  could  answer,  the 
sharp  closing  of  a  door  and  drawing  of  its 
bolts,  gave  notice  that  the  Lord  Mayor  had 
retreated  to  his  bed-room,  and  that  further  re- 
monstran.ce  would  be  unavailing.  The  two 
clients  retreated  likewise,  and  the  porter  shut 
them  out  into  tiie  street, 

"  That 's  the  way  he  puts  me  off,"  said  the 
old  gentleman,  "I  can  get  no  redress  and  no 
help.     What  are  you  going  to  do,  sirl" 

"  To  try  elsewhere,"  answered  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  who  was  by  this  time  on  horseback. 

"I  feel  for  you,  I  assure  you — and  well  I 
may,  for  we  are  in  a  common  cause,"  said  the 
old  gentleman.  "  I  may  not  have  a  house  to 
offer  you  to-night;  let  me  tender  it  while  I 
can.  On  second  thouofhts  though,"  he  added, 
putting  up  a  pocket-book  he  had  produced 
while  speaking,  "  I  '11  not  give  you  a  card,  for 
if  it  was  found  upon  you,  it  might  get  you 
into  trouble.  Langdale — that's  my  name — 
vintner  and  distiller — Holborn  Hill — you  're 
heartily  welcome,  if  you'll  come." 

Mr.  Haredaie  bowed  his  head,  and  rode  off, 
clost!  beside  the  chaise  as  before;  determining 
to  repair  to  the  house  of  Sir  John  Fielding, 
who  had  tiie  reputation  of  being  a  bold  and 
active  magistrate,  and  fully  resolved,  in  case 
the  rioters  should  come  upon  them,  to  do  exe- 
cution on  the  murderer  with  his  own  hands, 
rather  than  sutler  him  to  be  released. 

They  arrived  at  the  magistrate's  dwelling, 
however,  without  molestation  (for  the  mob,  as 
we  have  seen,  were  then  intent  on  deeper 
schemes),  and  knocked  at  the  door.  As  it 
had  been  pretty  generally  rumoured  that  Sir  ; 


John  was  proscribed  by  the  riiters,  a  body 
of  thi-ef-takers  had  been  keeping  watch  in 
the  house  all  night.  To  one  of  them,  Mr. 
Haredaie  stated  his  business,  which  appear- 
ing to  the  man  of  sufficient  moment  to  war- 
rant his  arousing  the  justice,  procured  liim 
an  immediate  audience. 

No  time  was  lost  in  committing  the  mur- 
derer to  Newgate;  then  a  new  building,  re- 
cently completed  at  a  vast  expense,  and  con- 
sidered to  be  of  enormous  strenijth.  The 
warrant  being  made  out,  three  of  the  thief- 
takers  bound  him  afresh  (he  had  been  strug- 
gling, it  seemed,  in  the  chaise,  and  had 
loosened  his  manacles);  gagged  him,  lest 
they  should  meet  with  any  of  the  mob,  and 
he  should  call  to  them  for  help;  and  seated 
themselves,  along  with  him,  in  the  carriage. 
These  men  being  all  well  armed,  made  a  for- 
midable escort;  but  they  drew  up  the  blinds 
again,  as  though  the  carriage  were  empty, 
and  directed  Mr.  Haredaie  to  ride  forward, 
that  he  might  not  attract  attention  by  seem- 
ing to  belong  to  it. 

The  wisdom  of  this  proceeding  was  suffi- 
ciently obvious;  for  as  they  hurried  through 
the  city  they  passed  among  several  groups  of 
men,  who,  if  they  had  not  supposed  the  chaise 
to  be  quite  empty,  would  certainly  have 
stopped  it.  But  those  within  keeping  quite 
close,  and  the  driver  tarrying  to  be  asked  no 
questions,  they  reached  the  prison  without 
interruption,  and,  once  there,  had  him  out 
and  safe  within  its  gloomy  walls  in  a  twink- 
ling. 

With  eager  eyes  and  strained  attention, 
Mr.  Haredaie  saw  him  chained,  and  locked 
and  barred  up  in  his  cell.  Nay,  when  he  had 
left  the  jail,  and  stood  in  the  free  street, 
without,  he  felt  the  iron  plates  upon  the  doors 
with  his  hands,  and  drew  them  over  the  stone 
wall,  to  assure  himself  that  it  was  real;  and 
to  exult  in  its  being  so  strong,  and  rough,  and 
cold.  It  was  not  until  he  turned  his  back 
upon  the  jail,  and  glanced  along  the  empty 
streets,  so  lifeless  and  quiet  in  the  bright 
morning,  that  he  felt  the  weight  upon  his 
heart;  that  he  knew  he  was  tortured  by 
anxiety  for  those  he  had  left  at  home  ;  and 
that  home  itself  was  but  another  bead  in  the 
long  rosary  of  his  regrets. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-SECOND. 


The  prisoner,  left  to  himself,  sat  down  upon 
his  bedstead  ;  and  resting  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  his  chin  upon  his  hands,  remained 
in  that  attitude  for  hours.  It  would  be  hard 
to  say,  of  what  nature  his  reflections  were. 
They  had  no  distinctness,  and,  savin"-  for 
some  flashes  now  and  then,  no  reference  to 
nis  condition  or  the  train  of  circumstances  by 
which  it  had  been  brought  about.  The  cracks 
in  the  pavement  of  his  cell,  the  chinks  in  the 
wall  where  stone  was  joined  to  stone,  the  bars 


in  the  window,  the  iron  ring  upon  the  floor,— 
such  things  as  these,  subsiding  stranrrely  into 
one  another,  and  awakening  an  indescribable 
kind  of  interest  and  amusement,  engrossed 
his  whole  mind ;  and  although  at  the  bottom 
of  his  every  thought  there  was  an  uneasy 
sense  of  guilt,  and  dread  of  death,  he  felt  no 
more  than  that  vague  consciousness  of  it, 
which  a  sleeper  has  of  pain.  It  pursues  him 
through  his  dreams,  gnaws  at  the  heart  of  all 
i  his  fancied  pleasures,  robs  the  banquet  of  ita 


250 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


taste,  music  of  its  sweetness,  makes  happi- 
ness itself  unhappy,  and  yet  is  no  bodily  sen- 
sation, but  a  phantom  without  shape,  or  form, 
or  visible  presence;  pervadinsj  everything-, 
but  havino^  no  existence;  recognizable  every- 
where, but  nowhere  seen,  or  touched,  or  met 
with  face  to  face,  until  the  sleep  is  past,  and 
waking  agony  returns. 

After  a  long  time,  the  door  of  his  cell 
opened.  He  looked  up;  saw  the  blind  man 
enter;  and  relapsed  into  his  former  position. 

Guided  by  his  breathing,  the  visiter  ad- 
vanced to  where  he  sat ;  and  stopping  beside 
him,  and  stretching  out  his  hand  to  assure 
himself  that  he  was  right,  remained,  for  a 
good  space,  silent. 

"  This  is  bad,  Rudge.  This  is  bad,"  he  said 
at  length. 

The  prisoner  shuffled  with  his  feet  upon  the 
ground  in  turning  his  body  from  him,  but  made 
no  other  answer. 

"How  were  you  taken?"  he  asked.  "And 
where]  You  never  told  me  more  than  half 
your  secret.  No  matter;  I  know  it  now. 
How  was  it,  and  where,  eh?"  he  asked  again, 
coming  still  nearer  to  him, 

"At  Chigwell,"  said  the  other, 

"At  Chigwell!     How  came  you  there?" 

"  Because  I  went  there,  to  avoid  the  man  I 
stumbled  on,"  he  answered,  "Because  I  was 
chased  and  driven  there  by  him  and  Fate. 
Because  I  was  urged  to  go  there,  by  some- 
thing stronger  than  my  own  will.  When  I 
♦bund  him  watching  in  the  house  she  used  to 
live  in,  night  after  night,  I  knew  I  never 
could  escape  him — never!  and  when  I  heard 
the  Bell " 

He  shivered;  muttered  that  it  was  very 
cold  ;  paced  quickly  up  and  down  the  narrow 
cell ;  and  sitting  down  again,  fell  into  his  old 
posture. 

"  You  were  saying,"  said  the  blind  man, 
after  another  pause,  "that  when  you  heaid 
the  Bell " 

"  Let  it  be,  will  you  ?"  he  retorted  in  a  hur- 
ried voice.     "It  hangs  there  yet." 

The  blind  man  turned  a  wistful  and  inqui- 
sitive face  towards  him,  but  he  continued  to 
speak,  without  noticing  him. 

"  I  went  to  Chigwell,  in  search  of  the  mob. 
I  liave  been  so  hunted  and  beset  by  this  man, 
that  1  knew  my  only  hope  of  safety  lay  in 
joining  them.  They  had  gone  on  before;  1 
iLillowed  them,  when  it  left  off." 

"When  what  Ipft  off!" 

"The  Bell,  They  had  quitted  the  place. 
1  hoped  that  some  of  them  might  be  still  lin- 
gering among  the  ruins,  and  was  searching 

for  them  when  I  heard "  he  drew  a  long 

breath,  and  wiped  his  forehead  with  his  sleeve 
--"his  voice." 

"  Saying  what?" 

■'  No  matter  what.  I  don't  know.  I  was 
men  at  the  foot  of  the  turret,  where  I  did 
the " 

"Ay,"  said  the  blind  man,  nodding  his  head 
with  perfect  composure,  "  1  understand." 


"  I  climbed  the  stair,  or  so  much  of  it  as  was 
left;  meaning  to  hide  till  he  had  gone.  But 
he  heard  me;  and  followed  almost  as  soon  aa 
I  set  foot  upon  the  ashes." 

"You  might  have  hidden  in  the  wall,  and 
thrown  him  down,  or  stabbed  him,"  said  the 
blind  man, 

"  Might  I  ?  Between  that  man  and  me,  was 
one  who  led  him  on — I  saw  it,  though  he  did 
not — and  raised  above  his  head  a  bloody  hand. 
It  was  in  the  room  above  that  he  and  I  stood 
glaring  at  each  other  on  the  night  of  the  mur- 
der, and  before  he  fell  he  raised  his  hand  like 
that,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  me.  I  knew  the 
chase  would  end  there." 

"  You  have  a  strong  fancy,"  said  the  blind 
man,  with  a  smile. 

"  Strengthen  yours  with  blood,  and  see  what 
it  will  come  to." 

He  groaned,  and  rocked  himself,  and  look- 
ing up  i'oi  the  first  time,  said,  in  a  low,  hol- 
low voice: 

"  Eight-and-twenty  years  !  Eight-and-twen- 
ty  years!  He  has  never  changed  in  all  that 
time,  never  grown  older,  nor  altered  in  the 
least  degree.  He  has  been  before  me  in  the 
dark  night,  and  the  broad,  sunny  day  ;  in  the 
twilight,  the  sunlight,  the  light  of  fire,  and 
lamp,  and  candle;  and  in  the  deepest  gloom. 
Always  the  same!  In  company,  in  solitude, 
on  land,  on  shipboard;  sometimes  leaving  me 
alone  for  months,  and  sometimes  always  with 
me.  I  have  seen  him,  at  sea,  come  gliding 
in  the  dead  of  night  along  the  bright  reflec- 
tion of  the  moon  in  the  calm  water;  and  I 
have  seen  him,  on  quays  and  market-places, 
with  his  hand  uplifted,  towering,  the  centre 
of  a  busy  crowd,  unconscious  of  the  terrible 
form  that  had  its  silent  stand  among  them. 
Fancy  !  Are  you  real  ?  Am  I !  Are  these  iron 
fetters,  riveted  on  nie  by  tlie  smith's  hammer, 
or  are  they  fancies  I  can  shatter  at  a  blow?" 

The  blind  man  listened  in  silence. 

"Fancy!  Do  I  fancy  that  I  killed  him? 
Do  1  fancy  that  as  I  left  the  chamber  where 
he  lay,  1  saw  the  face  of  a  man  peeping  from 
a  dark  door,  who  fdainly  showed  me  by  hia 
fearful  looks  that  he  SMspected  what  1  had 
done  ?  Do  I  remember  that  I  spoke  fairly  to 
him — that  I  drew  nearer — nearer  yet — with 
the  hot  knife  in  my  sleeve  ?  Do  I  lancy  how 
he  died?  Did  he  stagger  back  into  the  angle 
of  the  wall  into  which  I  had  hemmed  him, 
and,  bleeding  inwardly,  stand,  not  fall,  a  corpse 
before  me?  Did  I  see  him,  as  I  see  you  now, 
erect  and  on  his  feet — but  dei\d !" 

The  blind  man,  vvho  knew  that  he  had  risen, 
motioned  hiin  to  sit  down  again  upon  his  bed- 
stead;  but  he  took  no  notice  of  the  gesture, 

"It  was  then  I  thought,  ihv  the  first  time, 
of  fastening  the  nni-njer  upon  him.  It  was 
then  I  dressed  him  in  my  clothes,  and  dragged 
him  down  the  back  stairs  to  the  piece  of  wa- 
ter. Do  I  remember  listening  to  the  bubbles 
that  came  rising  up  when  I  had  rolled  him 
in?  Do  I  remember  wiping  the  water  from 
my  face,  and  because  the   body  splashed   it 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


';5i 


(here,  in  its  descent,  feeling  as  if  it  7nust  be 
blood  ] 

"  Did  T  gn  home  when  I  had  done  ■?  And 
oh,  my  God  !  how  long  it  took  to  do !  Did  I 
stand  before  my  wife,  and  tell  her  1  Did  I  see 
uer  fall  upon  the  ground;  and,  when  I  stoop- 
ed to  raise  her,  did  she  thrust  me  back  wfth 
a  force  that  cast  me  ofl"  as  if  I  had  been  a 
child,  staining  the  hand  with  which  she  clasp- 
ed my  wrist  ]    Is  that,  fancy  ? 

"  Did  she  go  down  upon  her  knees,  and  call 
on  Heaven  to  witness  that  she  and  her  unborn 
child  renoimced  me  from  that  hour;  and  did 
she,  ip  words  so  solemn  that  they  turned  me 
cold  —  me,  fresh  from  the  horrors  my  own 
hands  had  made — warn  me  to  fly  while  there 
was  time;  for  though  she  would  be  silent,  be- 
ing my  wretched  wife,  she  would  not  shelter 
me?  Did  I  go  forth  that  night,  abjured  of 
God  and  man,  and  anchored  deep  in  hell;  to 
wander  at  my  cable's  length  about  the  earth, 
nnd  surely  be  drawn  down  at  last?" 

»«\Vhy  did  you  return?"  said  the  blind 
man. 

"  Why  is  blood  red  ?  I  could  no  more  help 
it,  than  I  could  live  without  breath.  I  strug- 
gled against  the  impulse,  but  I  was  drawn 
back,  through  every  diflicult  and  adverse  cir- 
cumstance, as  by  a  miirhty  engine.  Nothing 
could  stop  me.  The  day  and  hour  were  none 
of  my  choice.  Sleeping  and  waking,  I  had 
been  among  the  old  haunts  for  years — had  vis- 
ited my  own  grave.  Why  did  I  come  back  ! 
Because  this  jail  was  gaping  for  me,  and  he 
stood  beckoning  at  the  door." 

"You  were  not  known!"  said  the  blind 
man. 

"  I  was  a  man  who  had  been  twenty-two 
years  dead.     No.     I  was  not  known." 

"  You  should  have  kept  your  secret  better." 

"  JMy  secret  !  Mine  1  It  was  a  secret,  any 
breath  of  air  could  whisper  at  its  will.  The 
stars  had  it  in  their  twinkling,  the  water  in 
its  flowino-,  the  leaves  in  their  rustling,  the 
seasons  in  their  return.  It  lurked  in  strangers' 
faces,  and  their  voices.  Everything  had  lips 
on  which  it  always  trembled — My  secret!" 

"  It  was  revealed  by  your  own  act,  at  any 
rate,"  said  the  blind  man. 

"The  act  was  not  mine.  I  did  it,  but  it 
v/as  not  mine.  I  was  obliged  at  times  to 
wander  round,  and  round,  and  round  that  spot. 
If  you  had  chained  me  up  when  the  fit  was  on 
me,  I  should  have  broken  away,  and  gone 
there.  As  truly  as  the  loadstone  draws  iron 
towards  it,  so  he,  lying  at  the  bottom  of  his 
deep  grave,  could  draw  me  near  him  when  he 
would.  Was  that  fancy  ?  Did  I  like  to  go 
there,  or  did  I  strive  and  wrestle  with  the 
power  that  forced  me?" 

The  blind  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
smiled  incredulously.  The  prisoner  atjain 
resumed  his  old  attitude,  and  for  a  long  Time 
both  were  mute. 


"I  suppose  then,"  said  his  visiter,  at  IcngtJ. 
breaking  silence,  "that  you  are  penitent  ami 
resigned  ;  that  you  desire  to  make  peace  with 
everybody,  (in  particular,  with  your  wife,  who 
has  brought  you  to  this)  ;  and  that  you  ask  no 
greater  favour  than  to  be  carried  to  Tyburn 
as  soon  as  possible?  That  being  the  case,  1 
had  better  take  my  leave.  I  am  not  good 
enough  to  be  company  for  you." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you,"  said  the  other, 
fiercely,  "that  I  have  striven  and  wrestled 
with  the  power  that  brought  me  here?  Has 
my  whole  life,  for  eight-and-twenty  years,  been 
one  perpetual  struogle  and  resistance,  and  do 
you  think  I  want  to  lie  down  and  die?  Do 
all  men  shrink  from  death — I  most  of  all  !" 

"  That 's  better  said.  That 's  better  spoken, 
Rudge  —  but  I'll  not  call  you  that  again  — 
than  anything  you  have  said  yet,"  returned 
the  blind  man,  speaking  more  familiarly,  and 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  arm.  '•  Lookye, — I 
never  killed  a  man  myself,  for  I  have  never 
been  placed  in  a  position  that  made  it  worth 
my  while.  Farther,  I  am  not  an  advocate  for 
killing  men,  and  I  don't  think  I  should  recom- 
mend it  or  like  it — for  it 's  very  hazardous — 
under  any  circumstances.  But  as  you  had 
the  misfortune  to  get  into  this  trouble  before 
I  made  your  acquaintance,  and  as  you  have 
been  my  companion,  and  have  been  of  use  to 
me  for  a  long  lime  now,  I  overlook  that  part 
of  the  matter,  and  am  only  anxiou-j  that  you 
shouldn't  die  unnecessarily.  Now  I  do  not 
consider  that  at  present  it  is  at  all  necessary." 

"What  else  is  left  me  ?"  returned  the  pri 
soner.  "  To  eat  my  way  through  these  walls 
with  my  teeth?" 

"  Something  easier  than  that,"  returned  hia 
friend.  "Promise  me  that  you  will  talk  no 
more  of  these  fancies  of  yours — idle,  foolish 
things,  quite  beneath  a  man — and  I  '11  tell  you 
what  I  mean." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  other. 

"Your  worthy  lady  with  the  tender  con- 
science ;  your  scrupulous,  virtuous,  punctili- 
ous, but  not  blindly  affectionate  wife — " 

"What  of  her?" 

"  Is  now  in  London." 

"A  curse  upon  her,  be  she  where  she 
may!" 

"  That's  natural  enough.  If  she  had  taken 
her  annuity  as  usual,  you  would  not  have  been 
here,  and  we  should  have  been  better  off.  But 
that 's  apart  from  the  business.  She 's  in 
London.  Scared,  as  I  suppose,  and  have  no 
doubt,  by  my  representation  when  I  vvaiteu 
upon  her,  that  you  were  close  at  hand  (which 
I,  of  course,  urgi^d  only  as  an  inducement  to 
compliance,  knowing  that  she  was  not  pining 
to  see  you,)  she  left  that  place,  and  travellai 
up  to  London." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  From  my  friend  the  noble  captam — the  il- 
lustrious general — the  bladder,  Mr.  Tapptriu. 


iJ52 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


1  learnt  from  him  the  last  time  I  saw  him, 
which  was  yesterday,  that  your  son,  who  is 
called  Barnaby — not  after  his  father,  I  sup- 
pose— " 

"  Death  !  does  that  matter  now  !" 

" — You  are  impatient,"  said  tlie  blind  man, 
calmly  ;  "  it 's  a  cood  si^n,  and  looks  like  life 
— that  your  son  Barnaby  had  been  lured  away 
from  her  by  one  of  his  companions  who  knew 
him  of  old,  at  Chitfwell ;  and  that  he  is  now 
amoncr  the  rioters." 

"  And  what  is  that  to  me  1  If  father  and 
son  bo  hanged  together,  what  comfort  shall  I 
find  in  that!" 

"  Stay — stay,  my  friend,"  returned  the  blind 
man,  with  a  cunning  look,  "  you  travel  fast  to 
journeys'  ends.  Suppose  I  track  my  lady 
out,  and  say  thus  much :  ♦  You  want  your  son, 
ma'am — good.  I,  knowing  those  who  tempt 
him  to  remain  among  them,  can  restore  him 
to  you,  ma'am — good.  You  must  pay  a  price, 
ma'am,  for  his  restoration — good  again.  The 
price  is  small,  and  easy  to  be  paid  —  dear 
ma'am,  that 's  best  of  all.'  " 

"  What  mockery  is  this?" 

"  Very  likely,  she  may  reply  in  those  words. 
'No  mockery  at  all,' I  answer:  'Madam,  a 
person  said  to  be  your  husband  (identity  is 
difficult  of  proof  after  the  lapse  of  many  years,) 
is  in  prison,  his  life  in  peril  —  the  charge 
against  him,  murder.  Now,  ma'am,  your  hus- 
band has  been  dead  a  long,  long  time.  The 
gentleman  never  can  be  confounded  with  him, 
if  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  say  a  few 
words,  on  oath,  as  to  when  he  died,  and  how ; 
and  that  this  person  (who  I  am  told  resembles 
him  in  some  degiee,)  is  no  more  he  than  I  am. 
Such  testimony  will  set  the  question  quite  at 
rest.  Pledge  yourself  to  me  to  give  it,  ma'am, 
and  I  will  undertake  to  keep  your  son  (a  fine 
lad)  out  of  harm's  way,  until  you  have  done 
this  trifling  service,  when  he  sliall  be  delivered 
up  to  yon,  safe  and  sound.  On  the  other  hand, 
if  you  decline  to  do  so,  I  fear  he  will  be  be- 
trayed, and  handed  over  to  the  law,  which 
will  assuredly  sentence  him  to  suffer  death. 
it  is,  in  fact,  a  choice  between  his  life  and 
death.  If  you  refuse,  he  swings.  If  you  com- 
ply, the  timber  is  not  grown,  nor  the  hemp 
sown,  that  shall  do  him  any  harm." 

"Tiiere  is  a  gleam  of  hope  in  this!"  cried 
the  prisoner,  starting  up, 

"A  gleam  1"  returned  his  friend,  "a  noon- 
blaze;  a  full  and  glorious  day-light.  Hush! 
I  hear  the  tread  of  distant  feet.  Rely  on 
me." 

"  When  shall  I  hear  more  ?" 

"  As  soon  as  I  do.  I  should  hope,  to-mor- 
row. They  are  coming  to  say  that  our  time 
for  talk  is  over.  1  hear  the  jingling  of  the 
keys.  Not  another  word  of  this  just  now,  or 
ihey  may  overhear  us." 

As  he  said  these  words,  the  lock  was  turned, 
aad  one  of  the  prison  turnkeys  appearing  at 


the  door,  announced  that  it  was  time  for  visit- 
ers to  leave  the  jail. 

"  So  soon  !"  said  Stagg,  meekly.  "  But  it 
can't  be  helped.  Cheer  up,  friend.  This 
mistake  will  soon  be  set  at  rest,  and  then  you 
are  a  man  again  !  If  this  charitable  gentle- 
man will  lead  a  blind  man  (who  has  nothing 
in  return  but  prayers,)  to  the  prison-pijrch, 
and  set  him  with  his  face  towards  the  west, 
he  will  do  a  worthy  deed.  Thank  you,  good 
sir.     I  thank  you  very  kindly." 

So  saying,  and  pausing  for  an  instant  at  the 
door  to  turn  his  grinning  face  towards  his 
friend,  he  departed. 

When  the  officer  had  seen  him  to  the  porch, 
he  returned,  and  again  unlocking  and  unbar- 
ring the  door  of  the  cell,  set  it  wide  open,  in- 
forming its  inmate  that  he  was  at  liberty  to 
walk  in  the  adjacent  yard,  if  he  thought 
proper,  for  an  hour. 

The  prisoner  answered  with  a  sullen  nod  ; 
and  being  left  alone  again,  sat  brooding  over 
what  he  had  heard,  and  pondering  upon  the 
hopes  the  recent  conversation  had  awakened  ; 
gazing  abstractedly,  the  while  he  did  so,  on 
the  light  without,  and  watching  the  shadows 
thrown  by  one  wall  on  another,  and  on  the 
stone-paved  ground. 

It  was  a  dull,  square  yard,  made  cold  and 
gloomy  by  high  walls,  and  seeming  to  chill 
the  very  sunlight.  The  stone,  so  bare,  and 
rough,  and  obdurate,  filled  even  him  with 
longing  thoughts  of  meadow-land  and  trees; 
and  with  a  burning  wish  to  be  at  liberty.  As 
he  looked,  he  rose,  and  leaning  against  the 
door-post,  gazed  up  at  the  brisht  blue  sky, 
smiling  even  on  that  dreary  home  of  crime. 
He  seemed,  for  a  moment,  to  remember  lying 
on  his  back  in  some  sweet-scented  place,  and 
gazing  at  it  through  moving  branches,  long 
ago. 

His  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a 
clanking  sound — he  knew  what  it  was,  for  he 
had  startled  himself  by  making  the  same  noise 
in  walking  to  the  door.  Presently  a  voice 
began  to  sing,  and  he  saw  the  shadow  of  a 
figure  on  the  pavement.  It  stopped — was  si- 
lent all  at  once,  as  though  the  person  for  a 
moment  had  forgotten  where  he  was,  but  soon 
remembered — and  so,  with  the  same  clanking 
noise,  the  shadow  disappeared. 

He  walked  out  into  the  court  and  paced  it 
to  and  fro;  .startling  the  echoes,  as  he  went, 
with  the  harsh  jangling  of  his  fetters.  There 
was  a  door  near  his,  which,  like  his,  stood 
ajar. 

He  had  not  taken  half-a-dozen  turns  up  and 
down  the  yard,  when,  standing  still  to  observe 
this  door,  he  heard  the  clanking  sound  again. 
A  face  looked  out  of  the  grated  window — he 
saw  it  very  dimly,  for  the  cell  was  dark  and 
tlie  bars  were  heavy — and  directly  afterwards, 
a  man  appeared,  and  came  towards  him. 

For  the  sense  of  loneliness  he  had,  he  misrh 


\ 


vi-^': 


^/ 7^c~<9a./u^i^/i^.    /u^    /a^^ Z  /-//  ^y'l^vn 


/".e.^J. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


253 


have  been  in  tlie  jail  a  year.  Made  eager  by 
the  hope  of  companionship,  he  quickened  liis 
pace,  and  iiastened  to  meet  the  man  half 
way — 

What  was  this!     His  son ! 

They  stood  face  to  face,  staring  at  each 
other.  He  shrinking  and  cowed,  despite  him- 
self: Burnaby  struggling  with  his  imperfect 
memory,  and  wondering  where  he  had  seen 
that  face  before.  He  was  not  uncertain  long, 
for  suddenly  he  laid  hands  upon  him,  and 
striving  to  bear  him  to  the  ground,  cried  : 

"Ah  !  I  know!    You  are  the  robber!" 

He  said  nothing  in  reply  at  first,  but  held 
down  his  head,  and  struggled  with  him 
silently.  Finding  the  younger  man  too  strong 
for  him,  he  raised  his  face,  looked  close  into 
his  eyes,  and  said,  I 


"  I  am  your  father." 

God  knows  what  magic  the  name  had  for 
his  ears;  but  Barnaby  released  his  iiold,  fell 
back,  and  looked  at  him  agliast.  Suddenly 
he  sprung  towards  him,  put  his  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  pressed  his  head  against  his 
cheek. 

Yes,  yes,  he  was;  he  was  sure  ho  was.  But 
where  had  he  been  so  long,  and  why  had  he 
left  his  mother  by  herself,  or  worse  than  by 
herself,  with  her  poor  foolish  boy  1  And  had 
she  really  been  as  happy  as  they  said?  And 
where  was  she?  Was  she  near  there?  She 
was  not  happy  now,  and  he  in  jail]    Ah  !  no. 

Not  a  word  was  said  in  ansA'er;  but  Grip 
croaked  loudly,  and  hopped  about  them,  round 
and  round,  as  if  enclosing  them  in  a  mngic 
circle,  and  invoking  all  the  powers  of  mischief. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-THIRD. 


During  the  whole  of  this  day,  every  regi- 
ment in  or  near  the  metropolis  was  on  duty  in 
one  or  other  part  of  the  town ;  and  the  regu- 
lars and  militia,  in  obedience  to  the  orders 
which  were  sent  to  every  barrack  and  station 
within  twenty-four  hours'  journey,  began  to 
pour  in  by  all  the  roads.  But  the  disturbances 
had  attained  to  such  a  formidable  height,  and 
the  rioters  had  grown  with  impunity  to  be  so 
audacious  and  so  daring,  that  the  sight  of  this 
new  force,  continually  augmented  by  new 
arrivals,  instead  of  operating  as  a  check, 
stimulated  them  to  outrages  of  greater  hardi- 
hood than  any  they  had  yet  committed  ;  and 
helped  to  kindle  a  flame  in  London,  the  like 
of  which  had  never  been  beheld,  even  in  its 
ancient  and  rebellious  times. 

All  yesterday,  and  on  this  day  likewise, 
the  commander-in-chief  endeavoured  to  raise 
the  magistrates  to  a  sense  of  their  duty,  and 
m  particular  the  Lord  Mayor,  who  was  the 
faintest-hearted  and  most  timid  of  them  all. 
With  this  object,  large  bodies  of  the  soldiery 
were  several  times  despatched  to  the  Mansion 
House  to  await  his  orders;  but  as  he  could  by 
no  threats  or  persuasions  be  induced  to  give 
any ;  and  as  tiie  men  remained  in  the  open 
street,  fruitlessly  for  any  good  purpose,  and 
thrivingly  for  a  very  bad  one;  these  laudable 
attempts  did  harm  rather  than  good.  For  the 
crowd,  becoming  speedily  acquainted  with  the 
Lord  Mayor's  temper,  did  not  fail  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  it,  by  boasting  that  even  the  civil 
authorities  were  opposed  to  tiie  Papists,  and 
could  not  find  it  in  their  hearts  to  molest 
those  who  were  guilty  of  no  other  offence. 
These  vaunts  they  took  care  to  make  within 
the  hearing  of  the  soldiers:  and  they,  being 


naturally  loath  to  quarrel  with  the  people, 
received  their  advances  kindly  enough:  an- 
swering, when  they  were  asked  if  they  de- 
sired to  fire  upon  their  countrymen,  "No, 
tiiey  would  be  damned  if  they  did ;"  and 
showing  mucii  honest  simplicity  and  good- 
nature. The  feeling  that  the  military  were 
No  Popery  men,  and  were  ripe  for  disobeying 
orders  and  joining  the  mob,  soon  became  very 
prevalent  in  consequence.  Rumours  of  their 
disaffection,  and  of  their  leaning  towards  the 
popular  cause,  spread  from  mouth  to  mouth 
with  astonishing  rapidity  ;  and  whenever  they 
were  drawn  up  idly  in  the  streets  or  squares, 
there  was  sure  to  be  a  crowd  about  Ihi^m, 
cheering,  and  shaking  hands,  and  treating 
them  with  a  great  show  of  confidence  and 
affection. 

By  this  time,  the  crowd  was  everywhere; 
all  concealment  and  disguise  were  laid  aside 
and  they  pervaded  the  whole  town.  If  any 
man  among  them  wanted  money,  he  had  but 
to  knock  at  the  door  of  a  dwelling-house,  or 
walk  into  a  shop,  and  demand  it  in  the  rioters' 
name;  and  his  demand  was  instantly  com- 
plied with.  The  peaceable  citizens  being 
afraid  to  lay  hands  upon  them,  singly  and 
alone,  it  may  be  easily  supposed  that  when 
gathered  together  in  bodies,  they  were  per- 
fectly secure  from  interruption.  They  assem- 
bled in  the  streets,  traversed  them  at  their 
will  and  pleasure,  and  publicly  concerted 
their  plans.  Business  was  quite  suspended; 
the  greater  part  of  the  shops  were  closed , 
most  of  the  houses  displayed  a  blue  flag  in 
token  of  their  adherence  to  the  popular  side; 
and  even  the  Jews  in  Hounsditch,  White- 
chapel,  and  those  quarters,  wrote  upon  their 


254 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


jloors  or  window-shutters,  "This  House  is  a 
True  Protestant."  The  crowd  was  the  law, 
and  never  was  the  law  held  in  greater  dread, 
or  more  implicitly  obeyed. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening, 
when  a  vast  mob  poured  into  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields  by  every  avenue,  and  divided  —  evi- 
dently in  pursuance  of  a  previous  design — 
into  several  parties.  It  must  not  be  under- 
stood tiiat  this  arrangement  was  known  to  the 
whole  crowd,  but  that  it  was  the  work  of  a 
few  leaders;  who,  mingling  with  the  men  as 
they  came  upon  the  ground,  and  calling  to 
them  to  fall  into  this  or  that  party,  effected  it 
as  rapidly  as  if  it  had  been  determined  on  by 
a  council  of  the  whole  number,  and  every 
man  had  known  iiis  place. 

It  was  perfectly  notorious  to  tiio  assem- 
blage that  the  largest  body,  which  compre- 
hended about  two-thirds  of  the  whole,  was 
designed  for  the  attack  on  Newgate.  It 
comprehended  all  the  rioters  who  had  been 
conspicuous  in  any  of  their  former  proceed- 
ings ;  all  those  wiiom  they  recommended  as 
daring  hands,  and  fit  for  the  work  ;  all  those 
whose  companions  had  been  taken  in  the 
riots;  and  a  great  number  of  people  who 
were  relatives  or  friends  of  felons  in  ihe 
jail.  This  last  class  included,  not  only  the 
most  desperate  and  utterly  abandoned  villains 
in  London,  but  some  who  were  comparatively 
innocent.  There  was  more  than  one  woman 
there,  disguised  in  man's  atlire,  and  bent  upon 
the  rescue  of  a  child  or  brother.  There 
were  the  two  sons  of  a  man  who  lay  under 
sentence  of  death,  and  who  was  to  be  exe- 
cuted along  with  three  others,  only  the  next 
day  but  one.  There  was  a  great  party  of 
boys  whose  fellow-pickpockets  were  in  the 
prison;  and  at  the  skirts  of  all,  a  score  of 
miserable  women,  outcasts  from  the  world, 
seeking  to  release  some  other  fallen  creature 
as  miserable  as  themselves,  or  moved  by  a 
general  sympathy  perhaps — God  knows — with 
all  who  were  without  hope,  and  wretched. 

Old  swords,  and  pistols  without  ball  or 
powder;  sledge-hammers,  knives,  axes,  saws, 
and  weapons  pillaged  from  the  butchers' 
shops;  a  forest  of  iron  bars  and  wooden 
clubs;  long  ladders  for  scaling  the  walls, 
each  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  a  dozen 
men;  lighted  torches;  tow  smeared  with 
pitch,  and  tar,  and  brimstone ;  staves  roughly 
plucked  from  fence  and  paling;  and  even 
crutches  torn  from  crippled  beggars  in  the 
streets,  composed  their  arms.  When  all  was 
ready,  Hugh  and  Dennis,  with  Simon  Tap- 
pertit  between  them,  led  the  way.  Roaring 
and  chafing  like  an  angry  sea,  the  crowd 
pressed  after  them. 

Instead  of  going  straight  down  Holborn  to 
tnc  jail,  as  all  expected,  their  leaders  took  the 
way  to  Clerkenwell,  and  rushing  down  a 
quiet  street,  halted  before  a  locksmith's  house 
— the  Golden  Key. 


"  Beat  at  the  door,"  cried  Hugh  to  the  meu 
about  him.  "  We  want  one  of  his  craft  to- 
night.    Beat  it  in,  if  no  one  answers." 

The  shop  was  shut.  Both  door  and  shut- 
ters were  of  a  strong  and  sturdy  kind,  and 
they  knocked  without  efiect.  But  the  impa- 
tient crowd  raising  a  cry  of  "  tSet  fite  to  the 
house!"  and  torches  being  passed  to  the  front, 
an  upper  window  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
stout  old  locksmith  stood  before  them. 

"What  now,  ye  villains!"  he  demanded. 
"  Where  is  my  daughter  ]" 

"Ask  noquestionsof  us,  old  man,"  retorted 
Hugh,  waving  his  comrades  to  be  silent,  "  but 
come  down,  and  bring  the  tools  of  your  trade. 
We  want  you." 

"  Want  me!"  cried  the  locksmith,  glancing 
at  the  regimental  dress  he  wore:  "  Ay,  and 
if  some  that  I  could  name  possessed  the  hearts 
of  mice,  ye  should  have  had  me  long  ago. 
Mark  me,  my  lad — and  you  about  him  do  the 
same.  There  are  a  score  among  ye  whom  I 
see  now  and  know,  who  are  dead  men  from 
this  hour.  Begone!  and  rob  an  undertaker's 
while  you  can  !  You  '11  want  some  coffins  be- 
fore long." 

"  Will  you  come  down  1"  cried  Hugh. 

"  Will  you  give  me  my  daughter,  ruffian  1" 
cried  the  locksmith. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her,"  Hugh  rejoined. 
"  Burn  the  door!" 

"  Stop  !"  cried  the  locksmith,  in  a  voice 
that  made  them  falter  —  presenting,  as  he 
spoke,  a  gun.  "  Let  an  old  man  do  that.  You 
can  spare  him  better." 

The  young  fellow  who  held  the  light,  and 
who  was  stooping  down  before  the  door,  rose 
hastily  at  these  words,  and  fell  back.  The 
lockscnith  ran  his  eye  along  the  upturned 
faces,  and  kept  the  weapon  levelled  at  the 
threshold  of  his  house.  It  had  no  other  rest 
than  his  shoulder,  but  was  as  steady  as  the 
house  itsglf. 

"  Let  the  man  who  does  it,  take  heed  to  his 
prayers,"  he  said,  firmly  ;  "  I  warn  him." 

Snatching  a  torch  from  one  who  stood  near 
him,  Hugh  was  stepping  forward  with  an 
oath,  when  he  was  arrested  by  a  shrill  and 
piercing  shriek,  and,  looking  upward,  saw  a 
fluttering  garment  on  the  house-top. 

There  was  another  shriek,  and  another,  and 
then  a  shrill  voice  cried,  "  Is  Simmun  below  !" 
At  the  san)e  moment  a  lean  neck  was  stretched 
over  the  parapet,  and  Miss  Miggs,  indistinctly 
seen  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  evening, 
screeched  in  a  frenzied  manner,  "Oh!  dear 
gentlemen,  let  me  hear  Simmun's  answer 
from  his  own  lips.  Speak  to  me,  Simmun. 
Speak  to  me !" 

Mr.  Tappertit,  who  was  not  at  all  flattered 
by  this  compliment,  looked  up,  and  bidding  her 
hold  her  peace,  ordered  her  to  comedown  and 
open  the  door,  for  they  wanted  her  master,  and 
would  take  no  denial. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


255 


"Oh  good  gentlemen  !"  cried  Miss  Miggs. 
'  Oh  my  own  precious,  precious  Simmun — " 

"  Hold  your  nonsense,  will  you  !"  retorted 
Mr.  Tappertit ;  "  and  come  down  and  open 
liie  d()or. — Vs.  Varden,  drop  that  gun,  or  it  will 
be  worse  for  you." 

"  Don't  mind  his  gun,"  screamed  Miggs. 
*'  Simmun  and  gentlemen,!  poured  a  mug  of 
table  beer  right  down  the  barrel." 

The  crowd  gave  a  loud  shout,  which  was 
I'ullowed  by  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"It  wouldn't  go  off,  not  if  you  was  to  load 
it  up  to  the  muzzle,"  screamed  Miggs.  "  Sim- 
mun and  gentleman,  I'm  locked  up  in  the 
front  attic,  through  the  little  door  on  the  right 
tiand  when  you  ihinic  you  've  got  to  the  very 
top  of  the  stairs — and  up  the  flight  of  corner 
steps,  beins  careful  not  to  knock  your  heads 
against  the  rafters,  and  not  to  tread  on  one 
side  in  case  you  should  full  into  the  two-pair 
bed-room  through  the  lath  and  plasture,  which 
d^^  not  bear,  but  the  contrairy.  Simmun  and 
gentlemen,  I've  been  locked  up  here  for 
safety,  but  my  endeavours  has  always  been, 
and  always  will  be,  to  be  on  the  riirht  side — 
the  blessed  side — and  to  prenonnce  the  Pope 
of  Bibylon,  and  all  her  inward  and  her  out- 
ward workings,  which  is  Pagin.  My  senti- 
ments is  of  little  consequences,  I  know,"  cried 
Miggs,  Vvith  additional  shrillness,  "  for  my 
positions  is  but  a  servant,  and  as  sich,  of  hu- 
milities; still  I  gives  expressions  to  my  feel- 
ings, and  places  my  reliances  on  them  which 
entertains  my  own  opinions  !" 

Without  taking  much  notice  of  these  out- 
pourings of  Miss  Miggs,  after  she  had  made 
her  first  announcement  in  relation  to  the  gun, 
the  crowd  raised  a  ladder  against  the  window 
where  the  locksmith  stood,  and  notwithstand- 
ing that  he  closed,  and  fastened,  and  defended 
it  manfully,  soon  forced  an  entrance  by  shiver- 
ing the  glass  and  breaking  in  the  frames. 
After  dealing  a  few  stout  blows  about  him,  he 
found  himself  defenceless,  in  the  midst  of  a 
furious  crowd,  which  overflowed  the  room  and 
softened  off"  in  a  confused  heap  of  faces  at  the 
door  and  window. 

They  were  very  wrathful  with  him,  (for  he 
had  wounded  two  men,)  and  even  called  out 
to  those  in  front,  to  brinor  him  forth  and  hang 
him  on  a  lamp-post.  But  Gabriel  was  quite 
undaunted,  and  looked  from  Hugh  and  Dennis, 
who  iield  him  by  either  arm,  to  Simon  Tap- 
pertit,  who  confronted  him. 

"  You  have  rabbed  me  of  my  daughter," 
said  the  locksmith,  "  who  is  far,  far  dearer  to 
me  than  my  life;  and  you  may  take  my  life, 
if  you  will.  I  bless  God  that  I  have  been 
enabled  to  keep  my  wife  free  of  this  scene; 
and  that  He  has  made  me  a  man  who  will  not 
ask  mercy  at  such  hands  as  yours." 

"  And  a  wery  game  old  gentleman  you 
are,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  approvingly  :  "and  you 
express  yourself  like  a   man.     What's  the 


odds,  brother,  whether  it's  a  lamp-post  t(v 
night,  or  a  feather-bed  ten  year  to  come,  eh  !' 

The  locksmith  glanced  at  liiin  disdainfully, 
but  returned  no  other  answer. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  the  hangman,  who  par- 
ticularly favoured  the  lamp-post  suggestion, 
"I  honour  your  principles.  They're  mine 
exactly.  In  such  sentiments  as  them,"  and 
here  he  emphasized  his  discourse  with  an 
oath,  "  I  'm  ready  to  meet  you  or  any  maa 
half-way.  —  Have  you  got  a  bit  of  cord  any- 
wheres handy  ]  Don't  put  yourself  out  of  the 
way,  if  you  haven't.     A  handkecher  will  do." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  master,"  whispered  Hughj 
seizing  Varden  roughly  by  the  shoulder;  "  but 
do  as  you're  bid.  You'll  soon  hear  what 
you  're  wanted  for.     Do  it !" 

"  I  '11  do  nothing  at  your  request,  or  that  of 
any  scoundrel  here,"  returned  the  locksmith. 
"If  you  want  any  service  from  me,  you  may 
spire  yourselves  the  pains  of  telling  me  what 
it  is.  I  tell  you,  beforehand,  I  '11  do  nothing 
for  you." 

Mr.  Dennis  was  so  affected  by  this  con- 
stancy on  the  part  of  the  staunch  old  man, 
that  he  protested  —  almost  with  tears  in  his 
eyes — that  to  balk  his  inclinations  would  be 
an  act  of  cruelty  and  hard  dealing  to  which 
he,  for  one,  never  could  reconcile  his  con- 
science. The  gentleman,  he  said,  had  avow- 
ed in  so  many  words  that  he  was  ready  for 
working  off;  such  beins:  the  case,  he  consi- 
dered it  their  duty,  as  a  civilised  and  enlight- 
ened crowd,  to  work  him  off'.  It  was  not 
often,  he  observed,  that  they  had  it  in  their 
power  to  accommodate  themselves  to  the 
wishes  of  those  from  whom  they  had  the  mis- 
fortune to  differ.  Having  now  found  an  in- 
dividual who  expressed  a  desire  which  they 
could  reasonably  indulge,  (and  for  himself 
he  was  free  to  confess  that  in  his  opinion  that 
desire  did  honour  to  his  feelings,)  he  hoped 
they  would  decide  to  accede  to  his  proposition 
without  going  any  further.  It  was  an  experi- 
ment which,  skilfully  and  dexterously  per- 
formed, would  be  over  in  five  minutes,  with 
great  comfort  and  satisfaction  to  all  parties; 
and  though  it  did  not  become  him  (Mr.  Den- 
nis) to  speak  well  of  himself,  he  trusted  he 
might  be  allowed  to  say  that  he  had  practical 
knowledge  of  the  subject,  and,  being  naturally 
of  an  obliging  and  friendly  disposition,  would 
work  the  gentleman  off  with  a  deal  of  plea- 
sure. 

These  remarks,  which  were  addressed  in 
the  midst  of  a  frightful  din  and  turmoil  to 
those  immediately  about  him,  were  received 
with  great  favo  r;  not  so  much,  perhaps,  be 
cause  of  the  hangman's  eloquence,  as  on  ac- 
count of  the  locksmith's  obstinacy.  Gabriel 
was  in  imminent  peril,  and  he  knew  it;  but 
he  preserved  a  steady  silence;  and  would 
have  done  so,  if  they  had  been  debating  whe- 
ther they  should  roast  him  at  a  slow  fire. 


256 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


As  the  hangman  spoke,  there  was  some  stir 
and  confusion  on  the  ladder ;  and  directly  he 
was  silent — so  immediately  upon  his  holding- 
his  peace,  that  the  crowd  below  had  no  time 
to  learn  what  he  had  been  sayinir,  or  to  shout 
in  response — some  one  at  the  window  cried : 

"  lie  has  a  grey  head.  He  is  an  old  man  : 
Don't  hurt  him  !" 

The  locksmith  turned,  with  a  start,  towards 
the  place  from  which  the  words  had  come, 
and  looked  hurriedly  at  the  people  who  were 
hanijing  en  the  ladder  and  clinging  to  each 
other. 

"  Pay  no  respect  to  my  grey  hair,  young 
man,"  he  said,  answering  the  voice  and  not 
any  one  he  saw.  "  I  don't  ask  it.  My  heart 
is  green  enough  to  scorn  and  despise  every 
man  among  you, — band  of  robbers  that  you 
are !" 

This  incautious  speech  by  no  means  tended 
to  appease  the  ferocity  of  the  crowd.  They 
cried  again  to  have  him  brought  out;  and  it 
would  iiave  gone  hard  W'ith  the  honest  lock- 
smith, but  that  Huirh  reminded  them,  in  an- 
swer, that  they  wanted  his  services,  and  must 
have  them. 

"So,  tell  him  what  we  want,"  he  said  to 
Simon  Tappertit,  "and  quickly.  And  open 
your  ears,  master,  if  you  would  ever  use  them 
after  to-night." 

Gabriel  folded  his  arms,  which  were  now 
at  liberty,  and  eyed  his  old 'prentice  in  silence. 

"Loo'kye,  Varden,"  said  Sim,  "We're 
bound  for  Newgate." 

"I  know  you  are,"  returned  the  locksmith. 
"You  never  said  a  truer  word  than  that." 

"To  burn  it  down,  I  mean,"  said  Simon, 
"  and  force  the  gates,  and  set  the  prisoners  at 
liberty.  You  helped  to  make  the  lock  of  the 
great  door." 

"1  did,"  said  the  locksmith.  "You  owe 
me  no  thanks  for  that — as  you  '11  find  before 
long." 

"  Maybe,"  returned  his  journeyman,  "but 
you  must  show  us  how  to  force  it." 

»  Must  I !" 

"Yes;  for  you  know,  and  I  don't.  You 
must  come  along  with  us,  and  pick  it  with 
your  own  hands." 

"  When  I  do,"  said  the  locksmith  quietly, 
"  my  hands  shall  drop  off  at  the  wrists,  and 
you  shall  wear  them,  Simon  Tappertit,  on 
your  shoulders  for  epaulettes." 

•'  We'll  see  that,"  cried  Hugh,  interposing, 
as  the  indignation  of  the  crowd  again  burst 
forth.  "  You  fill  a  basket  with  the  tools  he  '11 
want,  while  I  bring  him  down  stairs.  Open 
•■he  doors  below,  some  of  you.  And  light  the 
great  captain,  others!  Is  there  no  business 
afoot,  my  lads,  that  you  can  do  nothing  but 
stand  and  grumble'?" 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  quickly 
dispersing,  swarmed  over  the  house,  plunder- 
ing and  breaking,  according  to  their  custom, 


and  carrying  off  such  articles  of  value  as  hap. 
pened  to  please  their  fancy.  They  had  no 
great  leno-th  of  time  for  these  proceedings, 
for  the  basket  of  tools  was  soon  prepared  and 
slung  over  a  man's  shoulders.  The  prepara- 
tions being  now  completed,  and  everything 
ready  for  the  attack,  those  who  were  pillaging 
and  destroying  in  the  other  rooms  were  called 
down  to  the  workshop.  They  were  about  to 
issue  foith,  when  the  man  who  had  been  last 
up  stairs,  stepped  forward,  and  asked  if  the 
young  woman  in  the  garret  (who  was  making 
a  terrible  noise,  he  said,  and  kept  on  scream- 
ing without  the  least  cessation)  was  to  be  re- 
leased ? 

For  his  own  part,  Simon  Tappertit  would 
certainly  have  replied  in  the  nrgative,  but  the 
mass  of  his  companions,  mindful  of  the  good 
service  she  had  done  in  the  matter  of  the  gun, 
being  of  a  different  ©pinion,  he  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  answer.  Yes.  The  man,  accord- 
ingly, went  back  again  to  the  rescue,  and  pre- 
sently returned  with  Miss  Miggs,  limp  and 
doubled  up,  and  very  damp  from  much  weep- 
ing. 

As  the  young  lady  had  given  no  tokens  of 
consciousness  on  their  way  down  stairs,  tl>e 
bearer  reported  her  either  dead  or  dying;  and 
being  at  some  loss  what  to  do  with  her,  was 
looking  round  for  a  convenient  bench  or  heap 
of  ashes  on  which  to  place  her  senseless  form, 
when  she  suddenly  came  upon  her  feet  by 
some  mysterious  means,  thrust  back  her  hair, 
stared  wildly  at  Mr.  Tappertit,  cried  "My 
Simmuns's  life  is  not  a  wictim  !"  and  dropped 
into  his  arms  with  such  promptitude  that  he 
staggered  and  reeled  some  paces  back,  be- 
neath his  lovely  burden. 

"Oh  bother!"  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "Hero. 
Catch  hold  of  her,  somebody.  Lock  her  up 
again  ;  she  never  ought  to  have  been  let  out." 

"  Mr.  Simmun  !"  cried  Miss  IMiggs,  in  tears, 
and  faintly.  "  My  for  ever,  ever  blessed  Sim- 
mun !" 

"  Hold  up,  will  you,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  in 
a  very  unresponsive  tone,  "  I  '11  let  you  fal 
if  you  don't.  What  are  you  sliding  your  feet 
off  the  ground  for  ]" 

"My  angel  Simmuns!"  murmured  Migga 
— "  he  promised " 

"  Promised  !  Well,  and  T  '11  keep  my  pro- 
mise," answered  Simon,  testily.  "  I  mean  to 
provide  for  you,  don't  1 1     Stand  up  !" 

"Where  am  I  to  gol  What  is  to  become 
of  me  after  my  actions  of  this  night !"  cried 
Miggs.  "  What  resting-places  now  remains 
but  in  the  silent  tombs!" 

"I  wish  you  was  in  the  silent  tombp,  I  do," 
cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  "and  boxed  up  tight,  in 
a  good  strong  one.  Here,"  he  cried  to  one 
of  the  by-standers,  in  whose  ear  he  whispered 
for  a  moment:  "Take  her  olT,  will  you.  You 
understand  where]" 

The  fellow  nodded ;  and  taking  her  in  his 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


257 


arms,  notwithstanding  her  broken  protesta- 
tions, and  her  struor^les  (which  latter  species 
of  opposition,  involving  scratches,  was  much 
more  difficult  of  resistance,)  carried  her  away. 
They  who  were  in  the  house  poured  out  into 
the  street;  the  locksmith  was  taken  to  the 


head  of  the  crowd,  and  required  to  walk  be- 
tween his  two  conductors;  the  whole  body 
was  put  in  rapid  motion;  and  without  any 
shouting  or  noise  thoy  bore  down  straiglit  on 
Newgate,  and  halted  in  a  dense  mass  before 
the  prison  gate. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-FOURTH. 


Breaking  the  silence  tliey  had  hitherto  pre- 
served, thoy  raised  a  great  cry  as  soon  as  they 
were  ranged  before  the  jail,  and  demanded  to 
speak  with  tlie  governor.  Their  visit  was 
not  wholly  unexpected,  for  his  house,  which 
fronted  the  street,  was  strongly  barricaded, 
the  wicket-gate  of  the  prison  was  closed  up, 
and  at  no  loophole  or  grating  was  any  person 
to  be  seen.  Before  they  had  repeated  their 
summons  many  times,  a  man  appeared  upon 
the  roof  of  the  governor's  house,  and  asked 
what  it  was  they  wanted. 

Some  said  one  thing,  some  another,  and 
some  only  groaned  and  hissed.  It  being  now 
nearly  dark,  and  the  house  high,  many  per- 
sons in  the  tlirong  were  not  aware  that  any 
one  had  come  to  answer  them,  and  continued 
their  clan>our  until  the  intelligence  was  gra- 
dually diffused  through  the  whole  concourse. 
Ten  minutes  or  more  elapsed  before  any  one 
voice  could  be  heard  with  tolerable  distinct- 
ness; during  which  interval  the  figure  re- 
mained perched  alone,  against  the  summer- 
evening  sky,  looking  down  into  the  troubled 
street. 

"  Are  you,"  said  Hugh  at  length,  "  Mr. 
Akerman,  the  head  jailer  here]" 

"Of  course  he  is,  brother,"  whispered  Den- 
nis. But  Hugh,  without  minding  him,  took 
his  answer  from  the  man  himself 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  I  am." 

"  You  have  got  some  friends  of  ours  in  your 
custody,  master." 

"  I  have  a  good  many  people  in  my  custo- 
dy." He  glanced  downward,  as  he  spoke, 
into  the  jail :  and  the  feeling  that  he  could 
see  into  the  different  yards,  and  that  he  over- 
looked everything  which  was  hidden  from 
their  view  by  the  rugged  walls,  so  lashed  and 
goaded  the  mob,  that  they  howled  like  wolves. 

"Deliver  up  our  friends,"  said  Hugh,  "and 
you  may  keep  the  rest." 

"It's  my  duty  to  keep  them  all.  I  shall 
do  my  duty." 

"If  you  don't  throw  the  doors  open,  we 
shall  break  'cm  down,"  said  Hugh;  "for  we 
will  have  the  rioters  out." 

"  All  I  can  do,  good  people,"  Akerman  re- 
plied, "is  to  exhort  you  to  disperse;  and  to 
remind  you  that  the  consequences  of  any  dis- 
turbance in  this  place,  will  be  very  severe, 


and  bitterly  repented  by  most  of  you,  wheo 
it  is  too  late." 

He  made  as  though  he  would  retire  when 
he  had  said  these  words,  but  he  was  checked 
by  the  voice  of  the  locksmith. 

"  Mr.  Akerman,"  cried  Gabriel,  "  Mr.  Aker- 
man." 

"  I  will  hear  no  more  from  any  of  you,"  re- 
plied the  governor,  turning  towards  the  speak- 
er, and  waving  his  hand. 

"But  I  am  not  one  of  them,"  said  Gabriel. 
"  I  am  an  honest  man,  Mr.  Akerman ;  a  re- 
spectable tradesman  —  Gabriel  Varden,  the 
locksmith.     You  know  meV 

"  You  among  the  crowd !"  cried  the  gover- 
nor in  an  altered  voice. 

"Brought  here  by  force — brought  here  to 
pick  the  lock  of  the  great  door  for  them,"  re- 
joined the  locksmith.  "  Bear  witness  for  me, 
Mr.  Akerman,  that  I  refuse  to  do  it;  and  that 
I  will  not  do  it,  come  what  may  of  my  refu- 
sal. If  any  violence  is  done  to  me,  please  to 
remember  this." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  helping  you  V  said 
the  governor. 

"None,  Mr.  Akerman.  You'll  dc  your 
duty,  and  I  '11  do  mine.  Once  again,  y  u  rob- 
bers and  cut-throats,"  said  the  locksmith,  turn- 
ing round  upon  them,  "  I  refuse.  Howl  till 
you  're  hoarse.     I  refuse." 

"Stay  —  stay!"  said  the  jailer,  hastily 
"Mr.  Varden,  1  know  you  for  a  worthy  man 
and  one  who  would  do  no  unlawful  act  except 
upon  compulsion " 

"Upon  compulsion,  sir,"  interposed  the 
locksmith,  who  felt  that  the  tone  in  w  hich  this 
was  said,  conveyed  the  speaker's  impression 
that  he  had  ample  excuse  for  yielding  to  the 
furious  multitude  who  beset  and  hemmed  him 
in,  on  every  side,  and  among  whom  he  stood, 
an  old  man,  quite  alone;  "upon  compulsion, 
sir,  I'll  do  nothing." 

"  Where  is  that  man,"  said  the  keeper,  anx 
iously,  "  who  spoke  to  me  just  now  1" 

"Here!"  Hugh  replied. 

"Do  you  know  what  the  guilt  of  murder  is, 
and  that  by  keeping  that  honest  tradesman  at 
your  side  you  endanger  his  life!" 

"We  know  it  very  well,"  he  answered, 
"  for  what  else  did  we  bring  'lim  here  1  Let  'a 


258 


BARNACY    RUDGE. 


have  our  friends,  master,  and  you  shall  have 
your  friend.     Is  that  fair,  lads  .'" 

The  mob  replied  to  him  with  a  loud  Hurrah  ! 

"  You  see  how  it  is,  sir  V  cried  Varden. 
"  Keep  'em  out,  in  King  George's  name.  Re- 
member v^hat  I  have  said.     Good  night!"' 

There  was  no  more  parley.  A  shower  of 
stones  and  other  missiles  compelled  the  keep- 
er of  the  jail  to  retire;  and  the  mob,  press- 
ing on,  and  swarming  round  the  walls,  forced 
Gabriel  Varden  close  up  to  the  door. 

In  vain  the  basket  of  tools  was  laid  upon 
the  ground  before  him,  and  he  was  urged 
in  turn  by  promises,  by  blows,  by  offers  of  re- 
ward, anil  threats  of  instant  death,  to  do  the 
ofHce  for  which  they  had  brought  him  tliere. 
"No,"  cried  the  sturdy  locksmith,"!  will  not!" 

He  had  never  loved  his  life  so  well  as  then, 
but  nothing  could  move  him.  The  savage 
faces  that  glared  upon  him,  look  where  he 
would;  the  cries  of  those  who  thirsted,  like 
wild  animals,  for  his  blood  ;  the  sight  of  men 
pressing  forward,  and  trampling  down  their 
fellows,  as  they  strove  to  reach  him,  and  struck 
at  him  above  the  heads  of  other  men,  with 
axes  and  with  iron  bars;  all  failed  to  daunt 
him.  He  looked  from  man  to  man,  and  face 
to  face,  and  still,  with  quickened  breath  and 
lessening  colour,  cried  firndy,  "  I  will  not!" 

Dennis  dealt  him  a  blow  upon  the  face 
which  felled  him  to  the  ground.  He  sprung 
up  again  like  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  and 
with  the  crimson  pouring  from  his  forehead, 
caught  him  by  the  throat. 


"  You  cowardly  dog !"  he  said  :  "  Gi\e  ir 
my  daughter.     Give  me  my  daughter." 

They  struggled  together.  Some  cried 
"  Kill  him,"  and  some  (but  they  were  not  near 
enough)  strove  to  trample  him  to  death.  Tug 
as  he  would  at  the  old  man's  wrists,  the  hang- 
man could  not  force  him  to  unclench  his  hands. 
"  Is  this  all  the  return  you  make  tiie,  you 
ungrateful  monster"!"  he  articulated  with 
great  difficulty,  and  with  many  oaths. 

"Give  me  my  daughter !"  cried  the  lock- 
smith, who  was  now  as  fierce  as  tlK>e  who 
gathered  round  him:  "  Give  me  my  daughter  I" 
He  was  down  again,  and  up,  and  down  once 
!  more,  and  buffeting  with  a  score  of  them,  who 
bandied   him   from  hand  to  hand,  when  one 
tall   fellow,   fresh    from    a    slaughter-house, 
I  whose  dress  and  groat  thigh-boots  smoked  hot 
with    grease    and    blood,   raised    a    pole-axe, 
and  swearing  a  horrible  oath,  aimed  it  at  the 
old  man's  uncovered  head.     At  that  instant, 
and   in    the  very  act,  he  felt  himself  as   if 
struck  by  lightning,  and  over  his  body  a  one- 
armed  man  came  darting  to  the  locksmith's 
side.     Another  man  was  with  him,  and  both 
caught  the  locksmith  roughly  in  their  grasp. 
"Leave  him  to  us!"  they  cried  to  Hugh — 
j  struggling,  as  they  spoke,  to  force  a  passage 
j  backward  through  the  crowd.    "  Leave  him  to 
us.     Why  do  you  waste  your  whole  strength 
I  on  such   as  he,  when  a  couple  of  men  can 
j  fininh   him    in  as  many  minutes  !    You  lose 
1  time.     Remember  the  prisoners  !   rememb'-f 
I  Barnaby  !" 


BARN  A  BY   liUDGE. 


259 


The  cry  ran  through  the  mob.  Hammers 
began  to  rattle  on  the  walls;  and  every  man 
strove  to  reach  the  prison,  and  be  among  ilie 
foremost  rank.  Fighting  their  way  through 
the  press  and  struggle,  as  desperately  as  if 
they  were  in  the  midst  of  enemies  rather 
than  their  own  friends,  the  two  men  retreated 
with  the  locksmith  between  them,  and  dragged 
him  through  the  very  heart  of  the  concourse. 

And  now  the  strokes  began  to  fall  like  hail 
upon  the  gate,  and  on  the  strong  building;  for 
those  who  could  not  reach  the  door,  spent 
their  fif^rce  rage  on  any  thing — even  on  the 
great  blocks  of  stone,  wliich  shivered  their 
weapons  into  fragments,  and  made  their  hands 
and  arcns  to  tingle  as  if  the  walls  were  active 
in  their  stout  resistance,  and  dealt  them  back 
their  blows.  The  clash  of  iron  ringing  upon 
iron,  mingled  with  the  deafening  tumult,  and 
sounded  high  above  it  as  the  great  sledge- 
hammers rattled  on  the  mailed  and  plated 
door :  the  sparks  flew  off  in  showers ;  men 
worked  in  gangs,  and  at  short  intervals  re- 
lieved each  other,  that  all  their  strength 
might  be  devoted  to  the  work ;  but  there 
stood  the  portal  still,  as  grim  and  dark  and 
strong  as  ever,  and,  saving  for  the  dints  upon 
its  battered  surface,  quite  unchanged. 

While  some  brought  all  their  energies  to 
bear  upon  this  toilsome  task,  and  some,  rear- 
ing ladders  against  the  prison,  tried  to  clam- 
ber to  the  summit  of  the  walls  they  were  too 
short  to  scale;  and  some  again  engaged  a 
body  of  police  a  hundred  strong,  and  beat 
them  back  and  trod  them  under  foot  by  force 
of  numbers;  others  besieged  the  house  on 
which  the  jailor  had  appeared,  and,  driving 
in  the  door,  brought  out  the  furniture,  and 
piled  it  up  against  the  prison-gate,  to  make  a 
bonfire  which  should  burn  it  down.  As  soon 
as  this  device  was  understood,  all  those  who 
had  laboured  hitherto  cast  down  their  tools 
and  helped  to  swell  the  heap,  which  reached 
half  way  across  the  street,  and  was  so  high, 
that  those  who  threw  more  fuel  on  the  top  got 
up  by  ladders.  When  all  the  keeper's  goods 
were  flung  upon  this  costly  pile,  to  the  last 
fragment,  they  smeared  it  with  the  pitch,  and 
tar,  and  rosin  they  had  brouLrht,  and  sprinkled 
it  with  turpentine.  To  all  the  wood-work 
round  the  door  they  did  the  like,  leaving  not 
a  joist  or  beam  untouched.  This  infernal 
christening  performed,  they  fired  the  pile  with 
lighted  matches  and  with  blazing  tow,  and 
then  stood  by  awaiting  the  result. 

The  furniture  being  very  dry,  and  rendered 
more  combustible  by  wax  and  oil,  besides  the 
arts  they  had  used,  took  fire  at  once.  The 
flames  roared  high  and  fiercely,  blackening 
the  prison  wall,  and  twining  up  its  lofty  front 
like  burning  serpents.  At  first  they  crowded 
round  the  blaze,  and  vented  their  e.vultation 
only  in  their  looks;  but  when  it  grew  hotter 
and  fiercer  —  when  it  crackled,  leaped,  and 
roared,  like  a  great  furnace —  when  it  shone 
upon  the  opposite  houses,  and  lighted  up  not 
only  the  pale  and  wondering  faces  at  the 


windows,  but  the  inmost  corners  of  each  habi- 
tation— when,  through  the  deep  red  heat  and 
glow,  the  fire  was  seen  sporting  and  toying 
with  the  door,  now  clinging  to  its  obdurate 
surface,  now  gliding  ofl'  with  fierce  incon- 
stancy and  soaring  high  into  the  sky,  anon 
returning  to  fold  it  in  its  burning  grasp,  and 
hire  it  to  its  ruin — when  it  shone  and  gleamed 
so  brightly  that  the  church  clock  of  St.  Sepul- 
chre's, so  often  pointing  to  the  hour  of  death, 
was  legible  as  in  broad  day,  and  the  vano 
upon  its  steeple-top  glittered  in  the  unwonted 
light  like  something  richly  jewelled  —  when 
blackened  stone  and  sombre  brick  grew  ruddy 
in  the  deep  reflection,  and  windows  shone 
like  burnished  gold,  dotting  the  longest  dis- 
tance in  the  fiery  vista  with  their  specks  of 
brightness — when  wall,  and  tower,  and  roof, 
and  chimney-stack,  seemed  drunk,  and  in  the 
flickering  glare  appeared- to  reel  and  stagarer 
— when  scores  of  objects,  never  seen  before, 
burst  out  upon  the  view,  and  things  the  most 
familiar,  put  on  some  new  aspect  —  then  the 
mob  began  to  join  the  whirl,  and  with  loud 
yells,  and  shouts,  and  clamour,  such  as  hap- 
pily is  seldom  heard,  bestirred  themselves  tc 
feed  the  fire,  and  keep  it  at  its  height. 

Although  the  heat  was  so  intense  that  the 
paint  on  the  houses  over  against  the  prison, 
parched  and  crackled  up,  and  swelling  into 
boils,  as  it  were  from  excess  of  torture,  broke 
and  crumbled  away ;  although  the  glass  fell 
from  the  window-sashes,  and  the  lead  and 
iron  on  the  roofs  blistered  the  incautious  hand 
that  touched  them,  and  the  sparrows  in  the 
eaves  took  wing,  and,  rendered  giddy  by  the 
smoke,  fell  fluttering  down  upon  the  blazing 
pile;  still  the  fire  was  tended  unceasingly  by 
busy  hands,  and  round  it,  men  were  going  al- 
ways. They  never  slackened  in  their  zeal, 
or  kept  aloof,  but  pressed  upon  the  flames  so 
hard,  that  those  in  front  had  much  ado  to  save 
themselves  from  being  thrust  in  ;  if  one  man 
swooned  or  dropped,  a  dozen  struggled  for  his 
place,  and  that,  although  they  knew  the  pain, 
and  thirst,  and  pressure,  to  be  unendurable. 
Those  who  fell  down  in  fainting-fits,  and  were 
not  crushed  or  burnt,  were  carried  to  an  inn- 
yard  close  at  hand,  and  dashed  with  water 
from  a  pump ;  of  which  bucketfulls  were 
passed  from  man  to  man  among  the  crowd ; 
but  such  was  the  strong  desire  of  all  to  drink, 
and  such  the  fighting  to  be  first,  that,  for  t.:;3 
most  part,  the  whole  contents  were  spil.ed 
upon  the  ground,  without  the  lips  of  one  man 
being  moistened. 

Meanwhile,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the  roa\ 
and  outcry,  those  who  were  nearest  to  the 
pile,  heaped  up  again  the  burning  fragments 
that  came  toppling  down,  and  raked  the  fire 
about  the  door,  which,  although  a  sheet  of 
flame,  was  still  a  door  fast  locked  and  barred, 
and  kept  them  out.  Great  pieces  of  blazing 
wood  were  passed,  besides,  above  the  people's 
heads  to  such  as  stood  about  the  ladders,  and 
some  of  these,  chmbing  up  to  the  topmost 
stave,  and  holding  on  with  one  hand  by  Iho 


260 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


prison  wall,  exerted  all  their  skill  and  force 
to  cast  these  firebrands  on  the  roof,  or  down 
into  the  yards  within.  In  many  instances  their 
efforts  were  successful;  which  occasioned  a 
new  and  appalling  addition  to  the  horrors  of 
the  scene  :  for  the  prisoners  within,  seeing' 
from  between  their  bars  that  the  fire  caught 
in  many  places  and  thrived  fiercely,  and  being 
all  locked  up  in  strong  cells  for  the  night,  be- 
gan to  iv'now  that  tliey  were  in  danger  of  being 
burnt  alive.  Tiiis  terrible  fear,  spreading 
from  cell  to  cell,  and  from  yard  to  yard,  vented 
itself  in  such  dismal  cries  and  wailings,  and 
in  such  dreadful  shrieks  for  help,  that  the  whole 
jail  resounded  with  the  noise ;  which  was  loud- 
ly heard  even  above  the  shouting  of  the  mob  and 
roaring  of  the  flames,  and  was  so  full  of  agony 
and  despair,  that  it  made  the  boldest  tremble. 

It  was  remarkable  that  these  cries  began  in 
that  quarter  of  the  jail  which  fronted  Newgate 
Street,  where,  it  was  well  known,  the  men 
who  were  to  suffer  death  on  Thursday  were 
confined.  And  not  only  were  these  four  who 
had  so  short  a  time  to  live,  the  first  to  whom 
the  dread  of  being  burnt  occurred,  but  they 
were,  throughout,  the  most  importunate  of  all: 
for  they  could  be  plainly  heard,  notwithstand- 
ing the  great  thickness  of  the  walls,  crying 
tliat  the  wind  set  that  way,  and  that  the  flames 
would  shortly  reach  them;  and  calling  to  the 
officers  of  the  jail  to  come  and  quench  the  fire 
from  a  cistern  which  was  in  their  yard,  and 
full  of  water.  Judging  from  what  the  crowd 
without  the  walls  could  hear  from  time  to 
time,  these  four  doomed  wretches  never  ceased 
to  call  for  help;  and  that  with  as  much  dis- 
traction, and  in  as  great  a  frenzy  of  attachment 
to  existence,  as  though  each  had  an  honoured, 
happy  life  before  him,  instead  of  eight-and- 
forty  hours  of  miserable  imprisonment,  and 
then  a  violent  and  shameful  death. 

But  the  anguish  and  sufl^ering  of  the  two 
sons  of  one  of  these  men,  when  they  heard,  or 
fancied  that  they  heard,  their  father's  voice,  is 
past  description.  After  wringing  their  hands 
and  rushing  to  and  fro  as  if  they  were  stark 
mad,  one  mounted  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
brother  and  tried  to  clamber  up  the  face  of  the 
high  wall,  guarded  at  the  top  with  spikes  and 
points  of  iron.  And  when  he  fell  among  the 
crowd,  he  was  not  deterred  by  his  bruises,  but 
mounted  up  again,  and  fell  again,  and,  when 
he  found  the  feat  impossible,  began  to  beat  the 
stones  and  tear  them  with  his  hands,  as  if  he 


could  that  way  make  a  breach  in  the  strong 
building,  and  force  a  passage  in.  At  last,  they 
clove  their  way  among  the  mob  about  the 
door,  though  many  men,  a  dozen  times  their 
match,  had  tried  in  vain  to  do  so,  and  were 
seen,  in — yes,  in — the  fire,  striving  to  prize  it 
down,  with  crowbars. 

Nor  were  they  alone  affected  by  the  outcry 
from  within  the  prison.  The  women  who 
were  looking  on,  shrieked  Irnjdly,  beat  their 
hands  together,  stopped  their  ears,  and  many 
fainted  :  the  men  who  were  not  near  the  walls 
and  active  in  the  siege,  rather  than  do  no- 
thing, tore  up  the  pavement  of  the  street,  and 
did  so  with  a  haste  and  fury  they  could  not 
have  surpassed  if  that  had  been  the  jail,  and 
they  were  near  their  object.  Not  one  living 
creature  in  the  throng  was  for  an  instant  slill. 
The  whole  great  mass  were  mad. 

A  shout !  Another  !  Another  yet,  though 
few  knew  why,  or  what  it  meant.  But  those 
around  the  gate  had  seen  it  slowly  yield,  and 
drop  from  its  topmost  hinge.  It  hung  on  that 
side  by  but  one,  but  it  was  upright  still,  be- 
cause of  the  bar,  and  its  having  sunk,  of  ita 
own  weight,  into  the  heap  of  ashes  at  its  foot. 
There  was  now  a  gap  at  the  top  of  the  door- 
way, through  which  could  be  descried  a 
gloomy  passage,  cavernous  and  dark.  Pile  up 
the  fire ! 

It  burnt  fiercely.  The  door  was  red-hot, 
and  the  gap  wider.  They  vainly  tried  to 
shield  their  faces  with  their  hands,  and  stand- 
ing as  if  in  readiness  for  a  spring,  watched  the 
place.  Dark  figures,  some  crawling  on  their 
hands  and  knees,  some  carried  in  the  arms  of 
others,  were  seen  to  pass  along  the  roof  It 
was  plain  the  jail  could  hold  out  no  longer. 
The  keeper,  and  his  officers,  and  their  wives 
and  children,  were  escaping.  Pile  up  the  fire! 

The  door  sank  down  again  :  it  settled  deeper 
in  the  cinders — tottered — yielded — was  down! 

As  they  shouted  again,  they  fell  back,  for  a 
moment,  and  left  a  clear  space  about  the  fire 
that  lay  between  them  and  the  jail  entry. 
Hugh  leapt  upon  the  blazing  heap,  and  scat- 
tering a  train  ofsparks  into  the  air,  and  making 
the  dark  lobby  glitter  with  those  that  hung 
upon  his  dress,  dashed  into  the  jail. 

The  hangman  followed.   And  then  so  many 
rushed  upon  their  track,  that  the  fire  got  trod- 
den down  and  thinly  strewn  about  the  street 
but  there  was  no  need  of  it  now,  for,  inside 
and  out,  the  prison  was  in  flames. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-FIFTH. 


During  the  whole  course  of  the  terrible 
scene  which  was  now  at  its  height,  one  man 
in  the  jail  sufl^ered  a  degree  of  fear  and  mental 
lorment  which  had  no  parallel  in  the  endu- 
rance, even  of  those  who  lay  under  sentence 
of  death. 

When  the  rioters  first  assembled  before  the 
building,  the  murderer  was  roused  from  sleep 
—  if  such  slumbers  as  his,  may  have  that 
blessed  name — by  the  roar  of  voices,  and  the 
struggling  of  a  great  crowd.     He  started  up 


as  these  sounds  met  his  ear,  and,  sitting  on 
his  bedstead,  listened. 

After  a  short  interval  of  silence,  the  noise 
burst  out  again.  Still  listening  attentively, 
he  made  out,  in  course  of  tiine,  that  the  jail 
was  besieged  by  a  furious  multitude.  His 
guilty  conscience  instantly  arrayed  these  men 
against  himself,  and  brought  the  fear  upon 
him  that  he  would  be  singled  out,  and  lorn  to 
pieces. 

Once  impressed  with  the  terror  of  thia 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


261 


conceit,  everytliing  tended  to  confirm  and 
strenfTtlien  it.  His  double  crime,  tlie  circum- 
stances under  which  it  had  been  con\mitte(l, 
the  length  of  lime  that  had  elapsed,  and  its 
discovery  in  spite  of  all,  made  him  as  it  were, 
the  visible  object  of  the  Aimiglity's  wrath. 
In  all  the  crime  and  vice  and  moral  ji^loom  of 
the  E^reat  pest-house  of  the  capital,  he  stood 
alone,  marked  and  singled  out  by  his  great 
guilt,  a  Lucifer  among  the  devils.  The  other 
prisoners  were  a  host,  hiding  and  sheltering 
each  other  —  a  crowd  like  that  witliout  the 
walls.  He  was  one  man  against  the  whole 
united  concourse:  a  single,  solitary,  lonely 
man,  from  wliom  the  very  captives  in  the  jail 
fell  off  and  shrunk  appalled. 

It  might  be  that  the  intelligence  of  his  cap- 
ture having  been  bruited  abroad,  they  had 
come  there  purposely  to  drag  him  out  and  kill 
liim  in  the  street;  or  it  might  be  that  they 
were  the  rioters,  and,  in  pursuance  of  an  old 
design,  had  come  to  sack  the  prison.  But  in 
either  case  he  had  no  belief  or  hope  that  they 
would  spare  him.  Every  shout  they  raised, 
and  every  sound  they  made,  was  a  blow  upon 
Iiis  heart.  As  the  attack  went  on,  he  grew 
more  wild  and  frantic  in  his  terror;  tried  to 
pull  away  the  birs  that  guarded  the  chimney 
and  prevented  him  from  climbing  up;  called 
loudly  on  the  turnkeys  to  cluster  round  the 
cell  and  save  him  from  the  fury  of  the  rabble; 
or  put  him  in  some  dungeon  under-ground,  no 
matter  of  what  depth,  how  dark  it  was,  or 
loathsome,  or  besot  with  rats  and  creeping 
things,  so  that  it  hid  him  and  was  hard  to  find. 

But  no  one  came,  or  answered  him.  Fear- 
ful, even  while  he  cried  to  them,  of  attracting 
attention,  he  was  silent.  By  and  bye,  he  saw, 
as  he  looked  from  his  grated  window,  a  strange 
glimmering  on  the  stone  walls  and  pavement 
of  the  yard.  It  was  feeble  at  first,  and  came 
and  went,  as  though  some  officers  with  torches 
were  passing  to  and  fro  upon  the  roof  of  the 
prison.  Soon  it  reddened,  and  lighted  brands 
came  whirling  down,  spattering  the  ground 
with  fire,  and  burning  sullenly  in  corners. 
One  rolled  beneath  a  wooden  bench,  and  set 
it  in  a  blaze ;  another  caught  a  water-spout, 
and  so  went  climbing  up  the  wall,  leaving  a 
long  straight  track  of  fire  behind  it.  After  a 
time,  a  slow,  thick  shower  of  burning  frag- 
ments, from  some  upper  portion  of  the  prison 
which  was  blazing  nigh,  began  to  fall  before 
his  door.  Remembering  that  it  opened  out- 
wards, he  knew  that  every  spark  which  fell 
upon  the  heap,  and  in  the  act  lost  its  bright 
life,  and  died  an  ugly  speck  of  dust  and  rub- 
bish, helped  to  entomb  him  in  a  living  grave. 
Still,  though  the  jail  resounded  with  shrieks 
and  cries  for  help, — though  the  fire  bounded 
up  as  if  each  separate  flame  had  had  a  tiger's 
life,  and  roared  as  though,  in  every  one,  there 
were  a  hungry  voice— though  the  heat  began 
to  grow  intense,  and  the  air  sufiiicating,  and 
the  clamour  without  increased,  and  the  dan- 
(jer  of  his  situation  even  from  one  merciless 
clement  was  every  moment  more  extreme, — 
17 


still  he  was  afraid  to  raise  his  voice  again,  lest 
the  crowd  sliould  break  in,  and  should,  of  their 
own  ears  or  from  the  information  given  them 
by  the  other  prisoners,  get  the  clue  to  his  place 
of  confinement.  Thus,  fearful  alike  of  those 
within  the  prison  and  of  those  without;  of 
noise  and  silence ;  light  and  darkness  ;  of  being 
released,  and  being  left  there  to  die;  he  wag 
so  tortured  and  tormented,  that  nothing  man 
has  ever  done  to  man  in  the  horrible  caprice 
of  power  and  cruelty,  exceeds  his  self-inflicted 
punishment. 

Now,  now,  the  door  was  down.  Now  they 
came  rushing  through  the  jail,  calling  to  each 
other  in  the  vaulted  passages;  clashing  the 
iron  gates  dividing  yard  from  yard;  beating 
at  the  doors  of  cells  and  wards;  wrenching 
off  bolts  and  locks  and  bars;  tearing  down  the 
doorposts  to  get  men  out;  enaeavouring  to 
drag  them  by  main  force  through  gaps  and 
windows  where  a  child  could  scarcely  pass; 
whoopinor  and  yelling  without  a  moment's 
rest ;  and  running  through  tiie  heat  and  flamea 
as  if  they  were  cased  in  metal.  By  their  legs, 
their  arms,  the  hair  upon  their  heads,  they 
dragged  the  prisoners  out.  Some  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  captives  as  they  got  towards 
the  door,  and  tried  to  file  away  their  irons; 
some  danced  about  them  with  a  frenzied  joy, 
and  rent  their  clothes,  and  were  ready,  as  it 
seemed,  to  tear  them  limb  from  limb.  Now 
a  party  of  a  dozen  men  came  darting  through 
the  yard  into  which  the  murderer  cast  fearful 
glances  from  his  darkened  window ;  dragging 
a  prisoner  along  the  ground  whose  dress  they 
had  nearly  torn  from  his  body  in  their  mad 
eagerness  to  set  him  free,  and  who  was  bleed- 
ing and  senseless  in  their  hands.  Now  a  score 
of  prisoners  ran  to  and  fro,  who  had  lost  them- 
selves in  the  intricacies  of  the  prison,  and 
were  so  bewildered  with  the  noise  and  glare 
that  they  knew  not  where  to  turn  or  what  to 
do,  and  still  cried  out  for  help,  as  loudly  as 
before.  Anon  some  famished  wretch  whose 
theft  had  been  a  loaf  of  bread,  or  scrap  of 
butcher's  meat,  came  skulking  past,  barefoot- 
ed,— going  slowly  away  because  that  jail,  his 
house,  was  burning;  not  because  he  had  any 
other,  or  had  friends  to  meet,  or  old  haunts  to 
revisit,  or  any  liberty  to  gain,  but  liberty  to 
starve  and  die.  And  then  a  knot  of  highway- 
men went  trooping  by,  conducted  by  the 
friends  they  had  among  the  crowd,  who  muf- 
fled their  fetters  as  they  went  along,  with 
handkerchiefs  and  bands  of  hay,  and  wrapped 
them  up  in  coats  and  cloaks,  and  gave  them 
drink  from  bottles,  and  held  it  to  their  lips, 
bocause  of  their  handcuffs  which  there  was  no 
time  to  remove.  All  this,  and  Heaven  knows 
how  much  more,  was  done  amidst  a  noise,  a 
hurry,  and  distraction,  like  nothing  that  we 
know  of,  even  in  our  dreams;  which  seemed 
for  ever  on  the  rise,  and  never  to  decrease  for 
the  space  of  a  sinefle  instant. 

He  was  still  looking  down  from  his  window 
upon  these  things,  when  a  band  of  men  with 
torches,  ladders,  axes,  and   many  kinds  cf 


262 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


weapons,  poured  into  the  yard,  and  hammer- 
ing at  his  door,  inquired  if  there  were  any  pri- 
soner within.  He  left  the  window  when  he 
saw  them  Gomintj-,  and  drew  back  into  the  re- 
motest corner  of  the  cell ;  but  although  he 
returned  them  no  answer,  they  had  a  fancy 
that  some  one  was  within,  for  they  presently 
set  ladders  against  it,  and  began  to  tear  away 
the  bars  at  the  casement;  not  only  that,  in- 
deed, but  with  pickaxes  to  hew  down  the  very 
stones  in  the  wall. 

As  soon  as  they  had  made  a  breach  at  the 
window,  large  enough  for  the  admission  of  a 
man's  head,  one  of  them  thrust  in  a  torch  and 
looked  all  round  the  room.  He  followed  this 
man's  gaze  until  it  rested  on  himself,  and 
heard  him  demnnd  wiiy  he  had  not  answered, 
but  made  him  no  reply. 

In  the  general  surprise  and  wonder,  they 
were  used  to  this;  for  without  saying  anything 
more,  they  enlarged  the  breach  until  it  was 
large  enousrh  to  admit  the  body  of  a  man,  and 
then  came  dropping  down  upon  the  floor,  one 
after  another,  until  the  cell  was  full.  They 
caught  him  up  among  them,  handed  him  to 
tiie  window,  and  those  who  stood  upon  the 
ladders  cast  him  down  upon  the  pavement  of 
the  yard.  Then  the  rest  came  out,  one  after 
another,  and,  bidding  him  fly,  and  lose  no  time, 
or  the  way  would  be  choaked  up,  hurried  away 
to  rescue  others. 

It  seemed  not  a  minute's  work  from  first  to 
last.  He  staggered  to  his  feet,  incredulous 
of  what  had  happened,  when  the  yard  was 
filled  again,  and  a  crowd  rushed  on,  hurrying 
Barnaby  among  them.  In  another  minute — 
not  so  much :  another  minute !  the  same  in- 
stant, with  no  lapse  or  interval  between !  he 
and  his  son  were  being  passed  from  hand  to 
hand,  through  the  dense  crowd  in  the  street, 
and  were  glancing  backward  at  a  burning 
pile  which  some  one  said  was  Newgate. 

P^rom  the  moment  of  their  first  entrance 
into  the  prison,  the  crowd  dispersed  them- 
selves about  it,  and  swarmed  into  every  chink 
and  crevice,  as  if  they  had  a  perfect  acquaint- 
ance with  its  innermost  parts,  and  bore  in  their 
minds  an  exact  plan  of  the  whole.  For  this 
immediate  knowledge  of  the  place,  they  were, 
no  doubt,  in  a  great  degree  indebted  to  the 
hangman,  who  stood  in  the  lobby,  directing 
some  to  go  this  way,  some  that,  and  some  the 
other ;  and  who  materially  assisted  in  bring- 
ing about  the  wonderful  rapidity  with  which 
the  release  of  the  prisoners  was  effected. 

But  this  functionary  of  the  law  reserved 
one  important  piece  of  intelligence,  and  kept 
it  snugly  to  himself.  When  he  had  issued  his 
instructions  relative  to  every  other  part  of  the 
building,  and  the  mob  were  dispersed  from 
end  to  end,  and  busy  at  their  work,  he  took  a 
bundle  of  keys  from  a  kind  of  cupboard  in  tlie 
wall,  and  going  by  a  private  passage  near  the 
chapel  (it  joined  the  governor's  house,  and 
was  then  on  fire),  betook  himself  to  the  con- 
ilemned  cells,  which  were  a  series  of  small, 
strcng,  and  dismal  rooms,  opening  on  a  low 


gallery,  guarded,  at  the  end  at  wMch  he  ca 
tered,  by  a  strong  iron  wicket,  and  at  its  op- 
posite  extremity  by  two  doors  and  a  thick 
grate.  Having  double-locked  the  wicket,  and 
assured  himself  that  the  other  entrances  were 
well  secured,  he  sat  down  on  a  bencii  in  the 
gallery,  and  sucked  the  head  of  his  stick,  with 
an  air  of  the  utmost  complacency,  tranquilli- 
ty, and  contentment. 

It  would  have  been  strange  enough,  a  man's 
enjoying  himself  in  this  quiet  manner,  while 
the  prison  was  burning,  and  such  a  tumult 
was  cleaving  the  air,  though  he  had  been  out- 
side the  walls.  But  here,  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  building,  and  moreover  with  the  pray- 
ers and  cries  of  the  four  men  under  sentence 
soundinsr  in  his  ears,  and  their  hands  stretch- 
ed out  through  the  gratings  in  their  cell  doors, 
clasped  in  frantic  entreaty  before  his  very 
eyes,  it  was  particularly  remarkable.  Indeed, 
Mr.  Dennis  appeared  to  think  it  an  uncommon 
circumstance,  and  to  banter  himself  upon  it; 
for  lie  thrust  his  hat  on  one  side  as  some  men 
do  when  they  are  in  a  waggish  humour,  suck- 
ed the  head  of  his  stick  with  a  higher  relish, 
and  smiled  as  though  he  would  say,  "  Dennis, 
you're  a  rum  dog;  you're  a  queer  fellow; 
you're  capital  company,  Dennis,  and  quite  a 
character!" 

He  sat  in  this  way  for  some  minutes, 
while  the  four  men  in  the  cells,  certain  that 
somebody  had  entered  the  gallery,  but  could 
not  see  who,  gave  vent  to  such  piteous  entrea- 
ties as  wretches  in  their  miserable  condition 
may  bo  supposed  to  have  been  inspired  with: 
urging,  whoever  it  was,  to  set  them  at  liberty,fot 
the  love  of  heaven  ;  and  protesting,  with  great 
fervour,  and  truly  enough,  perhaps, for  the  time, 
that  if  they  escaped  they  would  amend  their 
ways,  and  would  never,  never,  never  again  do 
wrong  before  God  or  man,  but  would  lead  peni- 
tent and  sober  lives,  and  sorrowfully  repent  the 
crimes  they  had  committed.  Thft  terrible  en- 
ergy with  which  they  spoke,  would  have  moved 
any  person,  no  matter  how  good  or  just  (if  any 
good  or  just  person  could  have  strayed  into 
that  sad  place  that  night),  to  have  set  them  at 
liberty;  and,  while  he  would  have  left  any 
other  punishment  to  its  free  course,  to  have 
saved  them  from  this  last  dreadful  and  repul- 
sive penalty;  which  never  turned  a  man  in- 
clined to  evil,  and  has  hardened  thousands 
who  were  half  inclined  to  good. 

Mr.  Dennis,  who  had  been  bred  and  nur- 
tured in  the  good  old  school,  and  had  admin- 
istered the  good  old  laws  on  the  good  old  plan, 
always  once  and  sometimes  twice  every  six 
weeks,  for  a  long  time,  bore  these  appeals 
with  a  deal  of  philosophy.  Being  at  last,  how- 
ever, rather  disturbed  in  his  pleasant  reflec- 
tion by  their  repetition,  he  rapped  at  one  of 
the  doors  with  his  stick,  and  cried  : 

"  Hold  your  noise  there,  will  you  ?" 

At  this  they  all  cried  together  that  they 
were  to  be  hanged  on  the  next  day  but  one; 
and  again  implored  his  aid. 

»'  Aid !   For  what !"  said  Mr  Dennis,  phy 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


2G3 


fully  rapping  the  knuckles  of  the  hand  nearest 
hirn. 

"  To  save  us !"  they  cried. 

"Oil,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  winkin^r  at 
the  wall  in  the  absence  of  any  friend  with  whom 
he  could  humour  the  joke.  "And  so  you're  to 
be  worked  ott;  are  you,  brothers]" 

"  Unless  we  are  released  to-night,"  one  of 
them  cried,  "  we  are  dead  men  !" 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  the  hangman, 
pravely  ;  "I'm  afraid  my  friend  that  you're  not 
m  ihat  'ere  slate  of  mind  that's  suitable  to  your 
condition,  then;  you're  not  a  going  to  be  re- 
leased: don't  think  it — Will  you  leave  oft"  that 
'ere  mdecent  row  ]  1  wonder  you  an't  ashamed 
of  yourselves,  1  do." 

He  t<)llowed  up  this  reproof  by^rappincr  every 
set  of  knuckles  one  after  the  other,  and  having- 
done  so,  resumed  his  seat  again  with  a  cheerful 
countenance. 

"  You've  had  law,"  he  said,  crossing  his  legs 
and  elevating  his  eyebrows:  "laws  have  been 
made  a'  purpose  for  you  ;  a  vvery  handsome  pri- 
son's  been  made  a'  purpose  for  you;  a  parson's 
kept  a'  purpose  for  you ;  a  conslitootional  offi- 
cer's  appointed  a'  purpose  for  you;  carts  is 
maintained  a'  purpose  tor  you — and  yet  you  're 
not  contented!  —  Will  you  hold  that  noise,  you 
sir  in  the  furthest!" 

A  gro;in  was  the  only  answer. 

"  iSo  well  as  I  can  make  out,"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
in  a  tone  of  mingled  badinage  and  remonstrance, 
"  there  's  not  a  man  among  you.  1  begin  to  think 
I'm  on  the  opposite  side,  and  among  the  ladies; 
though  for  the  matter  of  that,  I  've  seen  a  many 
ladies  face  it  out,  in  a  manner  that  did  honour 
to  the  sex. — You  in  number  two,  don't  grind 
them  teeth  of  yours!  Worse  manners,"  said 
the  hangman,  rapping  at  the  door  with  his  stick, 
"  I  never  see  in  this  place  afore.  I  'm  ashamed 
Du  you.     You  're  a  disgrace  to  the  Bailey  !" 

Alter  pausing  for  a  moment  to  hear  if  any- 
thing could  be  pleaded  in  justification,  Mr.  Den- 
nis resumed,  in  a  sort  of  coaxing  tone: 

"Now  look'ee  here,  you  four.  I'm  come  here 
to  take  care  of  you,  and  see  that  you  an't  burnt 
instead  of  the  other  thing.  It's  no  use  your 
making  any  noise,  for  you  wont  be  found  out  by 
them  as  has  broken  in,  and  you  '11  only  be  hoarse 
when  you  come  to  the  speeches,  —  which  is  a 
pity.  What  I  say  in  respect  to  the  speeches  al- 
ways is,  'Give  it  mouth.'  That's  my  maxim. 
Give  it  mouth.  I  've  heerd,"  said  the  hangman, 
pulling  off  his  hat  to  take  his  handkerchief  from 
Che  crown  and  wipe  his  face,  and  then  putting  it 
jn  again  a  little  more  on  one  side  than  before, 
■'  I  've  heerd  a  eloquence  on  them  boards — you 
know  what  boards  I  mean — and  have  heerd  a 
degree  of  mouth  given  to  them  speeches,  that 
they  was  as  clear  as  a  bell,  and  as  good  as  a 
play.  There 's  a  pattern!  And  always,  when  a 
thing  of  this  nature's  to  come  off,  what  I  stand  up 
for,  is,  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  Let 's  have  a  pro- 
per frame  of  mind,  and  we  can  go  through  with  it, 
creditable — pleasant — sociable.  Whatever  you 
do,  and  I  address  myself,  in  particular,  to  you  in 
the  furthest,  never  snivel.  I  'd  sooner  by  half, 
though  I  lose  by  it,  see  a  man  tear  his  clothes 
a'  purpose  to  spile  'em  before  they  come  to  me, 


than  find  him  snivelling.   It's  ten  to  one  a  better 
frame  of  mind  every  way  !" 

While  the  hangman  addressed  them  to  this 
effect,  in  the  tone'and  with  the  air  of  a  pastor 
in  fiimiliar  conversation  with  his  Hock,  the  noise 
had  been  in  some  degree  subdued  ;  l()r  the  riot- 
ers were  busy  in  conveying  the  prisoners  to  the 
Sessions  House,  which  was  beyond  the  maif. 
walls  of  the  prison,  though  connected  with  if 
and  the  crowd  were  busy,  too,  in  passing  ther; 
from  thence  along  the  street.  But  when  he  Iwi' 
got  thus  far  in  his  discourse,  the  sound  of  voice, 
m  the  yard  showed  plainly  that  the  mob  ha^ 
returned  and  were  coming  that  way;  and  di 
rectly  afterwards  a  violent  crashing  at  the  grata 
below,  gave  note  of  their  attack  upon  the  ce 
(as  they  were  called)  at  last. 

It  was  in  vain  the  hangman  ran  from  door 
door,  and  covered  the  grates,  one  after  another 
with  his  hat,  in  futile  eff(>rts  to  stifle  the  crie 
of  the  four  men  within ;  it  was  in  vain  he  dog 
ged  their  outstretched  hands,  and  beat  them  witi 
his  stick,  or  menaced  them  with  new  and  lie 
gering  pains  in  the  execution  of  his  office ;  ti 
place  resounded  with  their  cries.  These,  toge 
ther  with  the  feeling  that  they  were  now  the 
last  men  in  the  jail,  so  worked  upon  and  stin: 
ulated  the  besiegers,  that  in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time  they  forced  the  strong  grate  dowr 
below,  which  was  formed  of  iron  rods  two  inches 
square,  drove  in  the  two  other  doors,  as  if  they 
had  been  but  deal  partitions,  and  stood  at  the  eno 
of  the  gallery  with  only  a  bar  or  two  between 
them  and  the  cells. 

"  Halloa !"  cried  Hugh,  who  was  the  first  to 
look  into  the  dusky  passage:  "  Dennis  before  us! 
Well  done,  old  boy.  Be  quick,  and  open  here,  tor 
we  shall  be  suffocated  in  the  smoke,  going  out." 

"  Go  out  at  once,  then,"  said  Dennis.  "  What 
do  you  want  here  ]" 

"  Want !"  echoed  Hugh.    "  The  four  men." 

"Four  devils!"  cried  the  hangman.  "Don't 
you  know  they  're  left  for  death  on  Thursday  1 
Don't  you  respect  the  law — the  constitootion — 
nothing  1    Let  the  four  men  be." 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  joking  ?"  cried  Hugh 
"  Do  you  hear  'eml  Pull  away  these  bars  that 
have  got  fixed  between  the  door  and  the  ground ; 
and  let  us  in." 

"  Brother,"  said  the  hangman  in  a  low  voice, 
as  he  stooped  under  pretence  of  doing  what 
Hugh  desired,  but  only  looked  up  in  his  face, 
"  can't  you  leave  these  here  four  men  to  me,  if 
I've  the  whim?  You  do  what  you  like,  and 
have  what  you  like  of  everything  for  your  share, 
give  me  my  share.  I  want  these  four  men  lefl 
alone,  I  tell  you  !" 

"  Pull  the  bars  down,  or  stand  out  of  tho 
way,"  was  Hugh's  reply. 

"  You  can  turn  the  crowd  if  you  like,  you  know 
that  well  enough,  brother,"  said  the  hangman, 
slowly.  "  What!   You  will  come  in, will  youV 

"  Yes." 

"  You  won't  let  these  men  alone,  and  leave  'cm 
to  me  ]    You've  no  respect  for  nothing — haven't 


you 


lid  the  hangman,  retreating  to  the  ooor 


by  which  he  had  entered,  and  regarding  his  com- 
panion with  an  ugly  scowl.  "  You  will  coma 
1  in,  will  you,  brother  1" 


2G4 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


"I  tell  you,  yes.  What  the  devil  ails  you? 
Where  are  you  going  1" 

'-No  maUer  where  I'm  going,"  rejoined  the 
hangman,  looking  in  again  at  the  iron  wicket, 
which  he  had  nearly  shut  upon  nniiself,  and  held 
ajar.  "  Remember  where  you're  coming.  That 's 
all  !" 

With  that,  he  shook  his  likeness  at  Hugh,  and 
giving  him  a  grin,  compared  with  which  his  usual 
smile  was  amiable,  disappeared,  and  shut  the  door. 

Hugh  paused  no  longer,  but  goaded  alike  by  the 
cries  of  the  convicts,  and  by  the  impatience  of  the 
crowd,  warned  the  man  immediately  behind  him 
— the  way  was  only  wide  enough  for  one  abreast 
—  to  stand  back,  and  wielded  a  sledge  hammer 
with  such  strength,  that  after  a  few  blows  the  iron 
bent  and  broke,  and  gave  them  free  admittance. 

If  the  two  sons  of  one  of  these  men,  of  whom 
mention  has  been  made,  were  furious  in  their  zeal 
before,  they  had  now  the  wrath  and  vigour  of  lions. 
Calling  to  the  man  within  each  cell,  to  keep  as 
far  back  as  he  could,  lest  the  axes  crashing  through 
the  door  should  wound  him,  a  party  went  to  work 
upon  each  one,  to  beat  it  in  by  sheer  strength, 
and  force  the  bolts  and  staples  from  their  hold. 
But  although  these  two  lads  had  the  weakest 
party,  and  the  worst  armed,  and  did  not  begin 
until  after  the  others,  having  stopped  to  whisper 
to  him  through  the  grate,  thatdoorwas  the  first 
open,  and  tliat  man  the  first  out.  As  they  dragged 
him  into  the  gallery  to  knock  off  his  irons,  he  fell 
down  among  them,  a  mere  heap  of  chains,  and 
was  carried  out  in  that  state  on  men's  shoulders 
with  no  sign  of  life. 

The  release  of  these  four  wretched  creatures, 
and  conveying  them,  astounded  and  bewildered, 
into  the  street  so  full  of  life  —  a  spectacle  they 
had  never  thought  to  see  again,  until  they  emerg- 
ed from  solitude  and  silence  upon  that  last  jour- 
ne3%  when  the  air  should  be  heavy  with  the  pent- 
up  breath  of  thousands,  and  the  streets  and  houses 


should  be  built  and  roofed  with  human  faces,  no? 
with  bricks  and  tiles  and  stones — was  the  crown 
ing  horror  of  the  scene.  Their  pale  and  haggard 
looks,  and  hollow  eyes;  tiieir  staggering  feet,  and 
hands  stretched  out  as  if  to  save  themselves  from 
falling;  their  wandering  and  uncertain  air;  the 
way  they  heaved  and  ga?ped  for  breath,  as  though 
in  water,  when  they  were  first  plunged  into  the 
crowd;  all  marked  them  for  the  men.  No  need 
to  say  "  this  one  was  doomed  to  die ;"  there  were 
the  words  broadly  stamped  and  branded  on  his 
face.  The  crowd  fell  off,  as  if  they  had  been  laid 
out  for  burial,  and  had  risen  in  their  shrouds; 
and  many  were  seen  to  shudder,  as  though  they 
had  been  actually  dead  men,  when  they  chanced 
to  touch  or  brush  against  their  garments. 

At  the  bidding  of  the  mob,  the  houses  were  all 
illuminated  that  night — lighted  up  from  top  to 
bottom  as  at  a  time  of  public  gaiety  and  joy. 
Many  years  afterwards,  old  people  who  lived  in 
their  youth  near  this  part  of  the  city,  remembered 
being  in  a  great  glare  of  light,  within  doors  and 
without,  and  as  they  looked  timid  and  frightened 
children,  from  the  windows,  seeing  a  face  go  by. 
Though  the  whole  great  crowd  and  ail  its  other 
terrors  had  faded  from  their  recollection,  this  one 
object  remained  ;  alone,  distinct,  and  well-re- 
membered. Even  in  the  unpractised  minds  of  in- 
fants, one  of  these  doomed  men  darting  by,  and 
but  an  instant  seen,  was  an  image  of  force  enough 
to  dim  the  whole  concourse;  tofind  itself  an  all- 
absorbing  place,  and  hold  it  ever  after. 

When  this  last  task  had  been  achieved  the 
shouts  and  cries  grew  fainter ;  the  clank  of  fetters, 
which  had  resounded  on  all  sides  as  the  prisoners 
escaped,  was  heard  no  more;  all  the  noises  of  the 
crowd  subsided  into  a  hoarse  and  sullen  murmur 
as  it  passed  into  the  distance ;  and  when  the  hu- 
man tide  had  rolled  away,  a  melancholy  heap  of 
smoking  ruins  marked  the  spot  where  it  had 
lately  chafed  and  roared. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-SIXTH. 


Although  he  had  had  no  rest  upon  the  previ- 
ous night,  and  had  watched  with  little  intermis- 
sion for  some  weeks  past,  sleeping  only  in  the  day 
by  starts  and  snatches,  Mr.  Haredale,  from  the 
dawn  of  morning  until  sunset,  sought  his  niece 
in  every  place  where  he  deemed  it  possible  she 
could  have  taken  refuge.  All  day  long,  no- 
thmg,  save  a  draught  of  water,  passed  his  lips; 
tnough  he  prosecuted  his  inquiries  far  and  wide, 
and  never  so  much  as  sat  down,  once. 

In  every  quarter  he  could  think  of;  at  Chigwell 
and  in  London;  at  the  houses  of  the  trades'  peo- 
ple with  whom  he  dealt,  and  of  the  friends  he 
knew  ;  he  pursued  his  search.  A  prey  to  the  most 
harrowing  anxieties  and  apprehension^,  he  went 
from  magistrate  to  magistrate,  and  finally  to  the 
Secretary  of  State.  The  only  comfort  he  received 
was  from  this  minister,  who  assured  him  that  the 
Government,  being  now  driven  to  the  exercise  of 
the  extreme  prerogativesof  the  Crown,  were  de- 
termined to  exert  them ;  that  a  proclamation 
uculd  probably  be  out  upon  the  morrow,  giving 


to  the  military,  discretionary  and  unlimited  power 
in  the  suppression  of  the  riots;  that  the  sympa- 
thies of  the  King,  the  Administration,  and  both 
Houses  of  Parliament,  and  indeed  of  all  good  men 
of  every  religious  persuasion,  were  strongly  with 
the  Catholics ;  and  that  justice  should  be  done 
them  at  any  cost  or  hazard.  He  told  him,  fur- 
ther, that  other  persons  whose  houses  had  been 
burnt,  had  for  a  time  lost  sight  of  their  children 
or  their  relatives,  but  had  in  every  case,  within 
his  knowledge,  succeeded  in  discovering  them; 
that  his  complaint  should  be  remembered,  and 
fully  stated  in  the  instructions  given  to  the  offi- 
cers in  command,  and  to  all  the  inferior  myrmi- 
dons of  justice  ;  and  that  everything  that  could 
be  done  to  help  him,  should  be  done,  witli  a 
good-will  and  in  good  faith. 

Grateful  for  this  consolation,  feeble  as  it  was 
in  its  reference  to  the  past,  and  little  hope  as  it  af- 
forded him  in  connexion  with  the  subject  or  dis- 
tress which  lay  nearest  to  his  heart;  and  really 
thankful  for  the  interest  the  minister  expressed, 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


265 


and  seomed  to  feel,  in  his  condition;  ]\lr.  Hare- 
dale  withdrew.  He  found  himself,  with  the  nij^ht 
comintj  on,  alone  in  the  streets ;  and  destitute  of 
any  pluce  in  which  to  lay  his  liead. 

He  entered  an  hotel  near  Cliaringf  Cross,  and 
ordered  some  refreshment  and  a  bod.  He  saw  that 
his  faint  and  worn  appearance  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  landlord  and  his  waiters;  and  thinkinjr 
that  ihey  might  suppose  him  to  be  penniless,  took 
out  his  purse,  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  It  was  not 
that,  the  landlord  said,  in  a  faltering  voice.  If  he 
were  one  of  those  who  had  suffered  by  the  rioters, 
he  durst  not  give  him  entertainment.  He  had  a 
family  of  children,  and  had  been  twice  warned  to 
be  careful  in  receiving  guests.  He  heartily  prayed 
his  forgiveness,  but  what  could  he  do'? 

Nothing.  No  man  felt  that,  more  sincerely  than 
Mr.  Haredale.  He  told  the  man  as  much,  and 
left  the  house. 

Feeling  that  he  might  have  anticipated  this  oc- 
currence, after  what  he  had  seen  at  Chigwell  in 
the  morning,  where  no  man  dared  to  touch  a 
spade,  thouirh  he  offered  a  large  reward  to  all  who 
would  come  and  dig  among  the  ruinsof  his  house, 
he  walked  along  the  Strand  ;  too  proud  to  e.xpose 
himself  to  another  refusal,  and  of  too  generous  a 
spirit  to  involve  in  distress  or  ruin  any  honest 
tradesman  who  might  be  weak  enough  to  give 
him  shelter.  He  wandered  into  one  of  the  streets 
by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  was  pacing  in  a 
thoughtful  manner  up  and  down,  thinking, 
strangely,  of  things  that  had  happened  long  aofo, 
when  he  heard  a  servant-man  at  an  upper  window 
call  to  another  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
that  the  mob  were  setting  fire  to  Newgate. 

To  Newgate  !  where  tiiat  man  was  !  His  fail- 
ing strenirth  returned,  his  energies  came  back 
will)  tent()ld  vigour,  on  the  instant.  If  it  were 
possible — if  they  should  set  the  murderer  free — 
was  he,  after  all  he  had  undergone,  to  die  with 
the  suspicion  of  having  slain  his  own  brother, 
dimly  gathering  about  him — 

He  had  no  consciousness  of  going  to  the  jail; 
but  there  he  stood,  bofore  it.  There  was  the 
crowd,  wedded  and  pressed  together  in  a  dense, 
dirk,  moving  mass;  and  there  were  the  flames 
soarinor  up  into  the  air.  His  head  turned  round 
and  roimd,  lights  flashed  before  his  eyes,  and  he 
struggle. i  liard  with  two  men. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  one.  "  Be  more  yourself,  my 
good  sir.  We  attract  attention  here.  Come 
away.    What  can  you  do  among  so  many  men  ?" 

"The  gentleman's  always  for  doing  some- 
thing," said  the  other,  forcing  him  along  as  he 
sjwke,  "I  like  him  for  that.  I  do  like  him  for 
that." 

They  had  by  this  time  got  him  into  a  court, 
hard  by  the  prison.  He  looked  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  as  he  triinl  to  release  himself,  felt  that 
he  tottered  on  his  feet.  He  who  had  spoken  first, 
was  the  old  gentleman  whom  he  had  seen  at  the 
Lord  Mayor's.  The  other  was  John  Grueby,  who 
had  stood  by  him  so  manfully  at  Westminster. 

"  What  does  this  mean  !"  he  asked  them, 
faintly.     "How  came  we  toGfcther] 

"On  the  skirts  of  the  crowd,"  returned   the 
distiller;  "  but  come  with  us.  Pray  corne  with  us. 
You  seem  to  know  my  friend  here  ?" 
22*  21 


"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  looking  in  a 
kind  of  stupor  at  John. 

"He'll  tell  you,  then,"  returned  the  old  gen- 
tleman, "  that  I  am  a  man  to  be  trusted.  He's  my 
servant.  He  was  lately  (as  you  know,  I  have 
no  doubt)  in  Lord  George  Gordon's  service;  but 
he  left  it,  and  brought,  in  pure  good  will  to  me 
and  others,  who  are  marked  by  the  rioters,  such 
intelligence  as  he  had  picked  up,  of  their  designs." 

— "On  one  condition,  please,  sir,"  said  John, 
touchinsr  his  hat.  "  No  evidence  against  my  Lord 
— a  misled  man — a  kind-hearted  man,  sir.  My 
Lord  never  intended  this." 

"The  condition  will  be  observed,  of  course," 
rejoined  the  old  distiller.  "  It 's  a  point  of  honour. 
But  come  with  us,  sir;  pray  come  with  us." 

John  Grueby  added  no  entreaties,  but  he  adopt- 
ed a  dillerent  kind  of  persuasion,  by  putting  his 
arm  through  one  of  Mr.  Haredale's,  while  his 
master  took  the  other,  and  leading  hiia  away 
with  all  speed. 

Sensible,  from  a  strange  lightness  in  his  head, 
and  a  difficulty  in  fixing  his  thoughts  on  any 
thing,  even  to  the  extent  of  bearing  his  compa- 
nions hi  his  mind  for  a  minute  together  without 
looking  at  them,  that  his  intellect  was  aff'ected 
by  the  agitation  and  sufl^ering  through  which 
he  had  passed,  and  to  which  he  was  still  a  prey, 
Mr.  Haredale  let  them  lead  him  where  they 
would.  As  they  went  along,  he  was  conscious 
of  having  no  command  over  what  he  said  or 
thought,  and  that  he  had  a  fear  of  going  mad. 

The  distiller  lived,  as  he  had  told  him  when 
they  first  met,  on  Holborn  Hill,  where  he  had 
great  storehouses  and  drove  a  large  trade.  They 
approached  his  house  by  a  back  entrance,  lest 
they  should  attract  the  notice  of  the  crowd,  and 
went  into  an  upper  room  which  faced  towards 
the  street;  the  windows,  however,  in  common 
with  those  of  every  other  room  in  the  house, 
were  boarded  up  inside,  that  out  of  doors  all 
misrht  appear  quite  dark. 

By  the  time  they  had  laid  him  on  a  sofa  in  this 
chamber,  Mr.  Haredale  was  perfectly  insensible  ; 
but  John  immediately  fetching  a  surgeon,  who 
took  from  him  a  large  quantity  of  blood,  he 
gradually  came  to  himself.  As  he  was  for  the 
time  too  weak  to  walk,  they  had  no  difficulty  in 
persuading  him  to  remain  there  all  night,  and 
got  him  to  bed  without  loss  of  time.  That  done, 
they  gave  him  a  cordial  and  some  toast,  and 
presently  a  pretty  strong  composing-draught, 
under  the  influence  of  which  he  soon  fell  into  a 
lethargy,  and,  for  a  time,  forgot  his  troubles. 

The  vintner,  who  was  a  very  hearty  old  fellow 
and  a  worthy  man,  had  no  thoughts  of  going  to 
bed  himself,  for  he  had  received  several  threat 
ening  warnings  from  the  rioters,  and  had  indeed 
gone  out  that  evenino-  to  try  and  gather  from  the 
conversation  of  the  mob  whether  his  house  was 
to  be  the  next  attacked.  He  sat  all  night  in 
an  easy-chiir  in  the  same  room — dozing  a  little 
now  and  then — and  received  from  time  to  time 
the  reports  of  John  Grueby  and  two  or  three 
other  trust-worthy  persons  in  his  employ,  who 
went  out  into  the  streets  as  scouts ;  and  for  whose 
entertainment  an  ample  allowance  of  good  cheer 
(which  the  old  vintner,  despite  his  anxiety,  now 


2m 


BARNAB  Y    RUD  GE. 


nrid  then  attacked  himself)  was  set  forth  in  an 
adjoining  chamber. 

These  accounts  were  of  a  sufficiently-alarming 
natuie  from  the  first;  but  as  the  night  wore  on, 
tliey  grew  so  much  worse,  and  involved  such  a 
fearful  amount  of  riot  and  destruction,  that  in 
comparison  with  these  new  tidings  all  the  pre- 
vious disturbances  sunk  to  nothing. 

The  first  intelligence  that  came,  was  of  the 
taking  of  Newgate,  and  the  escape  of  all  the 
prisoners,  whose  track,  as  tliey  made  up  Holborn 
and  into  the  adjacent  streets,  was  proclaimed 
to  tiiose  citizens  who  were  shut  up  in  their 
houses,  by  the  rattling  of  their  chains,  which 
formed  a  dismal  concert,  and  was  heard  in  every 
direction:  as  though  so  many  forges  were  at 
work.  The  flames  too,  shone  so  brightly  through 
the  vintner's  skylights,  that  the  rooms  and  stair- 
cases below  were  nearly  as  light  as  in  broad 
day ;  while  the  distant  shouting  of  the  mob 
eeenied  to  shake  the  very  walls  and  ceilings. 

At  length  they  were  heard  approaching  the 
nouse,  and  some  minutes  of  terrible  anxiety  en- 
sued. They  came  close  up,  and  stopped  before 
it;  hut  after  giving  three  loud  yells,  went  on. 
And  although  they  returned  several  times  that 
night,  creating  new  alarms  each  time,  they  did 
nothing  there  ;  having  their  hands  full.  Shortly 
after  they  had  gone  away  for  the  first  time,  one 
of  the  scouts  came  running  in  with  the  news 
that  they  had  stopped  before  Lord  Mansfield's 
house  in  Bloomsbury  square. 

Soon  afterwards  there  came  another,  and  an- 
other, and  then  the  first  returned  again :  and  so, 
oy  little  and  little,  tiieir  tale  was  this:  That  the 
mob  gathering  round  Lord  Mansfield's  house, 
had  called  on  those  within  to  open  the  door,  and 
receiving  no  reply  (for  Lord  asd  Lady  Mansfield 
were  at  that  moment  escaping  by  the  backway), 
forced  an  entrance  according  to  their  usual  cus- 
tom. That  they  then  began  to  demolish  it  with 
great  fury,  and  setting  fire  to  it  in  several  parts, 
involved  in  a  common  ruin  the  whole  of  the 
costly  furniture,  the  plate  and  jewels,  a  beautiful 
gallery  of  pictures,  the  rarest  collection  of  manu- 
scripts ever  possessed  by  anyone  private  person 
in  the  world,  and  worse  than  all,  because  nothing 
could  replace  this  loss,  the  great  Law  Library,  on 
almost  every  page  of  which  were  notes  in  the 
Judge's  own  hand,  of  inestimable  value, — being 
the  results  of  the  study  and  experience  of  his 
whole  life.  That  while  they  were  howling  and 
e.xultinj  round  the  fire,  a  troop  of  soldiers,  with 
a  magistrate  among  them,  came  up,  and  beingf 
too  late  (for  the  mischief  was  by  that  time  done), 
began  to  disperse  the  crowd.  That  the  riot  act 
being  read,  and  the  crowd  still  resisting,  the  sol- 
diers received  orders  to  fire,  and  levellinof  their 
muskets  shot  dead  at  the  first  discharge  six  men 
and  a  woman,  and  wounded  many  persons;  ami 
.oading  again  directly,  fired  another  volley,  but 
ever  the  people's  heads  it  was  supposed,  as  none 
were  seen  to  fall.  That  thereupon,  and  daunted 
by  the  shrieks  and  tumult,  the  crowd  began  to 
disperse,  andthe  soldiers  went  away  :  leaving  the 
killed  and  wounded  on  the  ground:  which  they 
Bad  no  sooner  done  than  the  rioters  came  back 


again,  and  taking  up  the  dead  bodies,  and  the 
wounded  people,  formed  into  a  rude  procession, 
having  the  bodies  in  front.  That  in  this  order, 
they  paraded  off  with  a  horrible  merriment;  fix- 
ing weapons  in  the  dead  men's  hands  to  make 
them  look  as  if  alive;  and  preceded  by  a  fellow 
ringing  Lord  Mansfield's  dinner-bell  with  all  his 
might. 

The  scouts  reported  further,  that  this  party 
meeting  with  some  others  who  had  been  at  similak 
work  elsewhere,  they  all  united  into  one,  «''i-v^ 
drafting  off  a  few  men  with  tiie  killed  and  "vuund. 
ed,  marched  away  to  Lord  Mansfield's  country 
seat  at  Caen  Wood,  between  Hampstead  and 
Highgato  ;  bent  upon  destroying  that  house  like- 
wise, and  lighting  up  a  great  fire  there,  which 
from  that  height  should  be  seen  all  over  London. 
But  in  this,  they  were  disappointed,  for  a  party  of 
horse  having  arrived  before  them,  they  retreated 
faster  than  they  went,  and  came  straight  back  to 
town. 

There  being  now  a  great  many  parties  in  the 
streets,  each  went  to  work  according  to  its  hu- 
mour, and  a  dozen  houses  were  quickly  blazing, 
including  those  of  Sir  John  Fielding  and  two  other 
justices,  and  four  in  Holborn — one  of  the  greatest 
thoroughfares  in^ondon — which  wereall  burning 
at  the  same  time,  and  burned  until  they  went  out 
of  themse^.ves,  for  the  people  cut  the  engine  hose, 
and  would  not  suffer  the  firemen  to  play  upon  the 
flames.  At  one  house  near  Moorficlds,  they  found 
in  one  of  the  rooms  some  canary  birds  in  cages, 
and  these  they  cast  into  the  fire  alive.  The  poor 
little  creatures  screamed,  it  was  said,  like  infants, 
when  they  were  flung  upon  the  blaze;  and  one 
man  was  so  touched  that  he  tried  in  vain  to  save 
them,  which  roused  the  indignation  of  the  crowd, 
and  nearly  cost  him  his  life.  At  this  same  house, 
one  of  the  fellows  who  went  through  the  rooms, 
breaking  the  furniture,  and  helping  to  destroy  the 
buildino-,  founda  child's  doll — a  poor  toy — which 
he  exhibited  at  the  window  to  the  mob  below,  as 
the  image  of  some  unholy  saint  which  the  late  oc- 
cupants had  worshipped.  While  he  wasdoinothis, 
another  man  with  an  equally  tender  conscience 
(they  had  both  been  foremost  in  throwing  down 
the  canary  birds  for  roasting  alive),  took  his  seat 
on  the  parapet  of  the  house,  and  harangued  tha 
crowd  from  a  pamphlet  circulated  by  the  associa 
tion,  relative  to  the  true  principles  of  Christianity. 
Meanwhile  the  Lord  Mayor,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  looked  on  as  an  idle  man  might  look  at 
any  other  show,  and  seem  mightily  satisfied  to 
have  irot  a  good  place. 

Such  were  the  accounts  brought  to  the  old  vint- 
ner by  his  servants  as  he  sat  at  the  side  of  Air. 
Haredale'sbed  ;  having  been  unable  even  todoze, 
after  the  first  part  of  the  night;  being  too  much 
disturbed  by  his  own  fears;  by  the  cries  of  the 
mob,  the  liirht  of  the  fires,  and  the  firing  of  the 
soldiers.  Such,  with  the  addition  of  the  release  of 
all  the  prisoners  in  the  New  Jail  at  Clerkenwell, 
and  as  many  robberies  of  passengers  in  ihe  streets 
as  the  crowd  had  leisure  to  indulge  in,  were  the 
scenes  of  which  Mr.  Haredale  was  happily  uncon- 
scious, and  which  were  all  enacted  before  mid- 
night. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


267 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-SEVENTII 


When  darkness  broke  away  and  morning  be- 
gan to  dawn,  tlie  town  wore  a  strange  aspect 
indped. 

Sleop  had  scarcely  been  thought  of  all  night. 
The  gi^noral  aiann  was  so  apparent  in  the  faces 
of  the  inhabitants,  and  its  expression  was  so 
a?eravalod  by  want  of  rest  {i'nw  persons,  with 
any  property  to  lose,  having  dared  to  go  to  bed 
L'OC-  r>!ondHy,)  t^u"  c  strang'^r  coming  into  the 
streets  would  have  supposed  some  riiortal  pest 
or  plague  was  raging.  In  place  of  the  usual 
cheerfulness  and  animation  of  morning,  every- 
thing was  dead  and  silent.  The  shops  remained 
unclosed,  offices  and  warehouses  were  shut,  the 
coach  and  chair  stands  were  deserted,  no  carts 
or  wagons  rumbled  through  the  slowly-waking 
streets,  the  early  cries  were  all  hushed ;  a  uni- 
versal gloom  prevailed.  Great  numbers  of  peo- 
ple were  out,  even  at  day-break,  but  they  flitted 
to  and  fro  as  tiiough  they  shrank  from  tlie  sound 
of  their  own  footsteps;  the  public  ways  were 
haunted  rather  than  frequented ;  and  round  the 
smoking  ruins  people  stood  apart  from  one  an- 
other and  in  silence;  not  venturing  to  condemn 
the  rioters,  or  to  be  supposed  to  do  so,  even  in 
whispers. 

At  the  Lord  President's  in  Piccadilly,  at  Lam- 
beth Palace,  at  the  Lord  Chancellor's  in  Great 
Orinond  Street,  in  the  Royal  Exchange,  the 
Bank,  t!ie  Guildhall,  the  Inns  of  Court,  the 
Courts  of  Law,  and  every  chamber  fronting  the 
streets  near  Westminster  Hall  and  the  Houses 
of  Parliament,  parties  of  soldiers  were  posted 
Defore  daylight.  A  body  of  Horse-Guards  pa- 
raded Palace-yard;  an  encampment  was  formed 
in  the  Park,  where  fifteen  hundred  men  and  five 
Oattalionsof  Militia  were  underarms;  the  Tower 
was  fortified,  the  draw-bridges  were  raised,  the 
cannon  loaded  and  pointed,  and  two  regiments 
of  artillery  busied  in  strengthening  tiie  fortress 
and  preparing  it  for  defence.  A  numerous  de- 
tachment of  sold  i-irs  were  stationed  to  keep  guard 
at  the  New-River  Head,  which  the  people  had 
threatened  to  attack,  and  where,  it  was  said, 
they  meant  to  cut  off"  the  main-pipes,  so  that 
there  might  be  no  water  for  the  extinction  of  the 
flames.  In  the  Poultry,  and  on  Cornhill,  and  at 
several  other  leading  points,  iron  chains  were 
drawn  across  the  street;  parties  of  soldiers  were 
distributed  in  some  of  the  old  city  churches  while 
it  was  yet  dark;  and  in  several  private  houses 
(among  them.  Lord  Rockingham's  in  Grosvenor 
Square;)  wiiich  were  blockaded  as  though  to 
Bustain  a  siege,  and  had  guns  pointed  from  the 
windows.  When  the  sun  rose,  it  shone  into 
handsome  apartments  filled  with  armed  men;  the 
furniture  hastily  heaped  away  in  corners  and 
made  of  little  or  no  account,  in  the  terror  of  the 
time — on  arms  g-littering  in  city  chambers,  among 
desks  and  stools,  and  dusty  books  —  into  little 
smoky  church-yards  in  odd  lanes  and  byeways, 
with  soldiers  lying  down  among  the  tombs,  or 


lounging  under  the  shade  of  the  one  oM  tree, 
and  their  pile  of  muskets  sparkling  in  the  light 
— on  solitary  sentries  pacing  up. and  down  in 
court-yards,  silent  now,  but  ye:>terday  resound« 
ing  with  the  din  and  hum  of  business — every 
where  on  guard-rooms,  garrisons,  and  threatening 
preparations. 

As  the  day  crept  on,  still  stranger  things  w 
witnessed  in  the  streets.  The  gates  uiii 
King's  Bt'iich  and  Fleet  Prisons  being  opened 
St  ti."  usual  hour,  were  found  to  have  notices 
alH.xed  to  them,  announcing  that  the  rioters 
would  come  that  night  to  burn  them  down.  The 
Wardens,  too  well  knowing  the  likelihood  there 
was  of  this  promise  being  fulfilled,  were  fain  to 
set  their  prisoners  at  liberty,  and  give  them  leave 
to  move  their  goods;  so,  all  day,  such  of  them  as 
had  any  furniture  were  occupied  in  conveying 
it,  some  to  this  place,  some  to  that,  and  not  a  few 
to  the  broker's  shops,  where  they  gladly  sold  it, 
for  any  wretched  price  those  gentry  chose  l3 
give.  There  were  some  broken  men  among 
these  debtors  who  had  been  in  jail  so  long,  and 
were  so  miserable  and  destitute  of  friends,  so 
dead  to  the  world,  and  utterly  forgotten  and  un- 
cared  for,  that  they  implored  their  jailors  not  to 
set  them  free,  and  to  send  ihem,  if  need  were, 
to  some  other  place  of  custody.  But  they,  re- 
fusing to  comply,  lest  tliey  should  incur  the 
anger  of  the  mob,  turned  them  into  the  streets, 
where  they  wandered  up  and  down  hardly  remem- 
bering the  ways  untrodden  by  their  feet  so  long 
and  crying  —  such  abject  things  those  rotten- 
hearted  jails  had  made  them — as  they  slunk  off" 
in  their  rags,  and  dragged  their  slip-shod  fecJ 
along  the  pavement. 

Even  of  the  three  hundred  prisoners  who  had 
escaped  from  Newgate,  there  were  some  —  a 
few,  but  there  were  some — who  sought  their 
jailors  out  and  delivered  themselves  up:  prefer- 
ring imprisonment  and  punishment  to  the  hor- 
rors of  such  another  night  as  the  last.  Many  of 
the  convicts,  drawn  back  to  their  old  place  of 
captivity  by  some  indescribable  attraction,  or  by 
a  desire  to  exult  over  it  in  its  downfall  and  glut 
their  revenge  by  seeing  it  in  ashes,  actually  went 
back  in  broad  noon,  and  loitered  about  the  cells. 
Fifty  wore  retaken  at  one  time  on  this:  next 
day,  within  the  prison  walls;  but  their  fate  did 
not  deter  others,  for  there  they  went  in  spile  of 
everything,  and  there  they  were  taken  in  twos 
and  threes,  twice  or  thrice  a  day,  all  through 
the  week.  Of  tlie  fifty  just  mentioned,  some 
were  occupied  in  endeavouring  to  rekindle  the 
fire  ;  but  in  creneral  they  seemed  to  have  no  ob- 
ject in  view  but  to  prowl  and  lounge  about  the 
old  place:  being  often  found  asleep  in  the  ruins-, 
or  sitting  talking  there,  or  even  eating  and 
drinkinir,  as  in  a  choice  retreat. 

Besides  the  notices  on  the  gates  of  the  Fleet 
and  the  King's  Bench,  many  similar  announce- 
ments were  left,  before  one  o'clock  at  neon,  at 


2«S 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


tbo  houses  of  privatn  individnals ;  and  furtlier, 
the  mob  proclaimed  their  intention  of  seizins'  on 
the  Bank,  tlie  Mint,  the  Arsenal  at  Woolwich, 
and  tlie  Royal  Palaces.  The  notices  were  sel- 
dom di'livered  by  more  than  one  man,  who,  if  it 
were  a  shop,  went  in,  and  laid  it,  with  a  bloody 
threat  perhaps,  upon  the  counter ;  or  if  it  were 
at  a  private  lions©,  knocked  at  the  door,  and 
thrust  it  in  the  servant's  hand.  Notwithstand- 
ing  the  presence  of.the  military  in  every  quarter 
/>f  the  town,  and  the  great  force  in  the  Park, 
these  messengcrs<lid  their  errands  with  impunity 
all  throuirh  the  day.  So  did  two  boys  who  went 
down  Holborn  alone,  armed  with  bars  taken 
from  the  railino-s  of  Lord  Mansfield  s  house,  and 
demanded  money  for  the  rioters.  So  did  a  tall 
man  on  horseback  who  made  a  collection  for  the 
same  purpose  in  Fleet  Street,  and  refused  to 
take  anything  but  gold. 

A  rumour  had  now  got  into  circulation,  too, 
wliich  diftijscd  a  greater  dread  all  through  Lon- 
don, even  than  these  publicly-announced  inten- 
tions of  the  rioters,  though  all  men  knew  that  if 
thfy  were  successfully  effected,  there  mutt 
ensue  a  national  bankruptcy  and  general  ruin. 
It  was  said  that  they  meant  to  throw  the  gates 
of  Bedlam  open,  and  let  all  the  madmen  loose. 
This  suggested  such  dreadful  images  to  the  peo- 
ple's minds,  and  was  indeed  an  act  so  fraught 
with  new  and  unimag-inable  horrors  in  the  con- 
templation, that  it  beset  them  more  than  any 
loss  or  cruelty  of  which  they  could  foresee  the 
worst,  and  drove  many  sane  men  nearly  mad 
themselves. 

So  the  day  passed  on :  the  prisoners  moving 
their  goods;  people  running  to  and  fro  in  the 
streets  carrytng  away  their  property;  groups 
standing  in  silence  round  the  ruins;  all  business 
suspended  ;  and  the  soldiers  disposed  as  has  been 
already  mentioned,  remaining  quite  inactive. 
So  the  day  passed  on,  and  dreaded  night  drew 
near  again. 

At  last,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the 
privy  council  issued  a  solemn  proclamatirn  that 
it  was  now  necessary  to  employ  the  mditary, 
and  that  the  officers  had  most  direct  and  elfectual 
orders,  by  an  immediate  exertion  of  their  utmost 
fnrce,  to  repress  the  disturbances;  and  warning 
sU  good  subjects  of  the  king  to  keep  themselves, 
tlieir  servants,  and  apprentices,  within  doors  that 
night.  There  was  then  delivered  cut  to  every 
soldier  on  duty,  thirty-six  rounds  of  powder  and 
bull;  the  drums  beat;  and  the  whole  force  was 
under  arms  at  sunset. 

The  city  authorities,  stimulated  by  these  vi- 
gorous measures,  held  a  common  council ;  passed 
a  vote  thanking  the  military  associations  who 
had  tendered  their  aid  to  the  civil  authorities; 
accepted  it;  and  placed  them  under  the  direction 
of  the  two  sheriffs.  At  the  queen's  palace,  a 
double  guard,  the  yeomen  on  duty,  the  groom- 
porters,  and  all  other  attendants,  were  stationed 
in  the  passages  and  on  the  staircases  at  seven 
o'clock,  witli  strict  instructions  to  be  watchful 
on  their  posts  all  night ;  and  all  the  doors  were 
locked.  The  gentlemen  of  the  Temple,  and  the 
Other  Inns,  mounted  guard  within  their  gates. 


and  strengthened  them  with  the  great  stones  ol 
the  pavement,  which  they  took  up  for  the  pur- 
pose. In  Lincoln's  Inn,  they  gave  up  the  hall 
and  commons  to  the  Northumberland  militia, 
und(T  the  coiimiand  of  Lord  Algernon  Percy , 
in  some  few  of  the  city  wards,  the  burgesses 
turned  oirt,  and  without  making  a  very  tierce 
show,  looked  brave  enouffh.  Some  hundreds  of 
stout  gentlemen  threw  themselves,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  into  the  halls  of  the  different  companies, 
double-locked  and  bolted  all  the  gates,  and  dared 
the  rioters  (among  themselves)  to  come  on  at 
their  peril.  These  arrangements  being  all  made 
simultaneously,  or  nearly  so,  were  completed  by 
the  time  it  got  dark;  and  then  the  streets  were 
comparatively  clear,  and  were  guarded  at  all  the 
great  corners  and  chief  avenues  by  the  troops: 
while  parties  of  the  officers  rode  up  and  down  in 
all  directions,  ordering  chance  stragglers  liome, 
and  admonishing  the  residents  to  keep  within 
their  houses,  and,  if  any  firing  ensued,  not  to  ap- 
proach the  windows.  More  chains  were  drawn 
across  such  of  the  thoroughfitres  as  were  of  a 
nature  to  favour  the  approach  of  a  great  crowd, 
and  at  each  of  these  points  a  considerable  force 
was  stationed.  All  these  precautions  having 
been  taken  and  it  being  now  quite  dark,  those  in 
command  awaited  the  result  in  some  anxiety: 
and  not  without  a  hope  that  such  vigilant  de- 
monstrations might  of  themselves  dishearten  the 
populace,  and  prevent  any  further  outrages. 

But  in  this  reckoning  they  were  cruelly  mis- 
taken, for  in  half  an  hour,  or  less,  as  though  the 
setting  in  of  night  had  been  their  preconcerted 
signal,  the  rioters  having  previously,  in  small 
parties,  prevented  the  lighting  of  the  street 
lamps,  rose  like  a  great  sea ;  and  that  in  so 
many  places  at  once,  and  with  such  inconceiva- 
ble fury,  that  those  who  had  the  direction  of  the 
troops  knew  not,  at  first,  where  to  turn  or  what 
to  do.  One  after  another,  new  fires  blazed  up 
in  every  quarter  of  the  town,  as  though  it  were 
the  intention  of  the  insurgents  to  wrap  the  city 
in  a  circle  of  flames,  which,  contracting  by  de- 
grees, should  burn  the  whole  to  ashes;  tlie  crowd 
swarmed  and  roared  in  every  street ;  and  none 
but  rioters  and  soldiers  being  out  of  doors,  it 
seemed  to  the  latter  as  if  all  London  were  ar- 
rayfd  against  them,  and  they  stood  alone  against 
the  town. 

In  two  hours,  six-and-thirty  fires  were  raging 
—  six-and-thirty  great  conflacfrations :  among 
them  the  Borough  Clink  in  Tooley-stieet,  the 
King's  Bench,  the  Fleet,  and  the  New  Bride- 
well. In  almost  every  street,  there  was  a  bat- 
tle; and  in  every  quarter  the  muskets  of  the 
troops  were  heard  above  the  shouts  and  tumult 
of  the  mob.  The  firing  began  in  the  Poultry, 
where  the  chain  was  drawn  across  the  road, 
where  nearly  a  score  of  people  were  killed  on 
the  first  discharge.  Their  bodies  having  been 
hastily  carried  into  St.  Mildred's  church  by  the 
soldiers,  they  fired  again,  and  following  fiist  upon 
the  crowd,  who  began  to  give  way  when  they 
saw  the  execution  that  was  done,  formed  across 
Cheapside,  and  charged  them  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet. 


BARNAKY    RUDGE. 


2G9 


The  stropts  wpre  now  a  dreadful  ppoctacle  in- 
deed ;  wliilc  (lie  shouts  of  tlie  rabble,  the  s-lirieks 
of  uoiiicn,  the  cries  of  tlie  woiiiitkil,  and  the 
constant  firing:,  formed  a  deafeninfj  and  an  awful 
ncconipaninient  to  the  sights  which  every  corner 
presented.  Wherever  the  road  was  obstructed 
hy  the  chains,  there  the  fi<fhtin!r  and  the  loss  of 
life  were  <rreatesl ;  but  tiiere  was  hot  work  and 
bloodsiied  in  ahnost  every  leadinjr  ihoroug^hfare, 
and  in  every  one  the  same  appalling  scenes  oc- 
curred. 

At  Holborn  Bridfre,  and  on  Ilolborn  Hill,  the 
confusioti  was  greater  than  in  any  other  part; 
for  the  crowd  tfiat  poured  out  of  tiie  city  in  two 
preat  streams,  one  hy  Ludgate  Hill,  and  one  by 
Newpatc-street,  united  at  that  spot,  and  formed 
a  mass  so  dense,  that  at  every  volU y  tlie  people 
seemed  to  fall  in  heaps.  At  this  place  a  large 
detachment  of  soldiery  were  posted,  who  fired, 
now  up  Fleet  Market,  now  up  Ilolborn,  now  np 
Snow  Hill — constantly  rakino-  the  streets  in  each 
direction.  At  this  place  too,  several  lare^e  fires 
were  burninir,  so  that  all  the  terrors  of  that  ter- 
rible nifrlit  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  this 
one  spot. 

Full  twenty  times,  the  rioters,  headed  by  one 
man  who  wielded  an  axe  in  his  right  hand,  and 
bestrode  a  brewer's  horse  of  great  size  and 
etreng-th,  cnmrisonod  with  fetters  taken  out  of 
Newgate,  which  clanked  and  jingled  as  he  went, 
made  an  attempt  to  force  a  passage  at  this  point, 
and  fire  the  vintner's  house.  Full  twenty  times 
they  were  repulsed  with  loss  of  life,  and  still 
came  back  again  :  and  though  the  fellow  at  their 
head  was  marked  and  singled  out  by  all,  and 
was  a  conspicuous  object  as  the  only  rioter  on 
horseback,  not  a  man  could  hit  him.  So  surely 
as  the  smoke  cleared  away,  so  surely  there  was 
he;  calliniT  hoarsely  to  his  companions,  bran- 
dishing his  axe  above  his  head,  and  dashing  on 
as  though  he  bore  a  charmed  life,  and  was  proof 
against  ball  and  powder. 

This  man  was  Hugh ;  and  in  every  part  of 
the  riot,  he  was  seen.  He  he'ulcd  two  attacks 
upon  the  Bnnk,  helped  t-3  break  open  the  Toll- 
houses on  Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  cast  the  money 
into  the  street:  fired  two  of  the  prisons  with  his 
own  hand  :  was  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere 
— always  foremost — always  active — striking  at 
trie  soldiers,  cheering  on  the  crowd,  making  his 
horse's  iron  music  heard  throutrh  all  the  yell  and 
uproar:  but  never  hurt  or  stopped.  Turn  him 
at  one  place,  and  he  made  a  new  struggle  in  an- 
other; f)rce  him  to  retreat  at  this  point,  and  he 
advanced  on  that,  directly.  Driven  from  Holborn 
tor  the  twentieth  time,  he  rode  at  the  head  of  a 
jfreat  crowd  straight  upon  Saint  Paul's,  attacked 
a  guard  of  soldiers  who  kept  watch  over  a  body 
of  prisoneis  within  the  iron  railings,  forced  them 
to  retreat,  rescued  the  men  they  had  in  custody, 
and  with  this  accession  to  his  party,  came  back 
again,  mad  with  liquor  and  excitement,  and  hal- 
looing thi'm  on  like  a  demon. 

-It  would  have  been  no  easy  task  for  the  most 
careful  rider  to  sit  a  horse  in  the  midst  of  such 
a  throng  and  tumult;  but  though  this  madman 
rolled  upon  his  back  (he  had  pn  saddle)  like  a 


boat  upon  the  sea,  ho  never  for  an  instant  lost 
his  seat,  or  failed  to  guide  him  where  lit;  v\ould. 
Through  the  very  thickest  of  the  press,  over 
dead  bodies  and  burning  fragments,  now  on  the 
pavement,  now  in  tlie  road,  now  riding  up  a 
flight  of  steps  to  make  himself  the  more  con- 
spicuous to  his  party,  and  now  tinrcing  a  passage 
through  a  mass  of  human  beings,  so  closely 
wedged  together  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  edge 
of  a  knife  would  scarcely  part  them,  —  on  he 
went,  as  though  he  could  surmount  all  obstacles 
by  the  mere  exercise  of  his  will.  And  perhaps 
his  not  being  shot  was  in  some  degree  attributa- 
ble to  this  very  circumstance;  fiir  his  extreme 
audacity,  and  the  conviction  that  he  must  be  one 
of  those  to  whom  the  proclamation  referred,  in- 
spired the  soldiers  with  a  desire  to  take  him 
alive,  and  diverted  many  an  aim  which  other- 
wise might  have  been  more  near  the  mark. 

The  vintner  and  Mr.  Haredale,  unable  to  sit 
quietly  listening  to  the  terrible  noise  without 
seeing  what  went  on,  had  climbed  to  the  roof 
of  the  house;  and  hiding  behind  a  stack  of  chim- 
neys, were  looking  cautiously  down  into  the 
street,  almost  hoping  tliat  after  so  many  repulses 
the  rioters  would  be  foiled,  when  a  great  shout 
proclaimed  thai  a  party  were  coming  round  the 
other  way;  and  the  dismal  jingling  of  those  ac- 
cursed fetters  warned  them  next  moment  that 
they  too  were  led  by  Hii^h.  The  soldiers  had 
advanced  into  Fleet  Market  and  were  dispersing 
the  people  there;  so  that  they  came  on  with 
hardly  any  check,  and  were  scon  before  the  house. 

"  All 's  over  now,"  said  the  vintner.  "  Fifty 
thousand  pounds  will  be  scattered  in  a  minute. 
We  must  save  ourselves.  We  can  do  no  more, 
and  shall  have  reason  to  be  thankful  if  we  do  as 
much." 

Their  first  impulse  was,  to  clamber  along  the 
roofs  of  the  houses,  and,  knocking  at  some  gar- 
ret window  for  admission,  pass  down  that  way 
into  the  street,  and  so  escape.  But  another 
fierce  cry  from  below,  and  a  ^reneral  upturning 
of  the  faces  of  the  crowd,  apprised  them  that 
they  were  discovered,  and  even  that  I\Ir.  Hare- 
dale  was  recognised ;  for  Hugh,  seeing  him 
plainly  in  the  bright  glare  of  the  flames,  which 
in  that  part  made  it  as  light  as  day,  called  to 
him  by  his  name,  and  swore  to  have  his  life. 

"  Leave  me  here,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  and 
in  Heaven's  name,  my  good  friend,  save  your- 
self! Come  on  !"  he  muttered,  as  be  turned  to- 
wards Hugh  and  faced  him  without  any  further 
eftbrt  at  concealment:  "This  roof  s  high,  and 
if  we  grapple,  we  will  die  together!" 

"  Madness,"  said  the  honest  vintner,  pnllinjj 
him  back,  "  sheer  madness.  Hear  reason,  sir. 
My  good  sir,  hear  reason.  I  could  never  make 
myself  heard  by  knocking  at  a  window  now  ; 
and  even  if  I  could,  no  one  would  be  bold  enough 
to  connive  at  my  escape.  Thrnuo-h  the  cellars, 
there 's  a  kind  of  passage  into  the  back  street  by 
which  we  roll  casks  in  ant^  out.  We  shall  have 
time  to  get  down  there,  before  they  can  force  an 
entry.  Do  not  delay  an  instant,  but  come  witl) 
me — for  both  our  sakes — for  mine  —  my  deaJ 
good  sir  !" 


270 


BAliNABY    RUDGE. 


As  he  spoke,  and  drew  Mr.  Haredale  back, 
they  iiad  both  a  ^riimpse  of  ttie  street.  It  was 
but  a  g^limpse,  but  it  showed  them  the  crowd, 
gatherinor  and  chistering  round  the  house:  some 
of  the  armed  men  pressing  to  the  front  to  break 
down  tiie  doors  and  windows,  some  brinLnnL^ 
brands  from  the  nearest  fire,  some  with  Hfted 
faces  following-  their  course  upon  the  roof  and 
pointinir  them  out  to  their  companions,  all  ra-jing 
and  roarinor  like  the  Hames  they  li(rhted'^u|x 
They  saw  some  men  howlinjr  and  fhiTstino-  for 
:he  treasures  of  stroncr  liquor  which  they  knew 
were  stored  within ;  they  saw  others,  who  had 
*)een  wounded,  sinking  down  into  the  opposite 
'loorways  and  dyinjr,  solitary  wretches,  in  the 
-nidst  of  all  the  vast  assemblage;  here  a  frio-ht- 
5ned  woman  tryinir  to  escape';  and  there  a  lost 
5iiild;  and  there  a  drunken  ruffian,  unconscious 
3f  the  death-wound  on  his  head,  raving  and 
^•rhting  to  the  last.  All  these  thinu-s,  and" even 
;nch  trivial  incidents  as  a  man  with  his  hat  off, 
3r  turning  round,  or  stooping  down,  or  shaking 
hands  with  anotlier,  they  marked  distinctly;  yt-t 
in  a  glatice  so  brief,  that,  in  the  act  of  steppin<r 
back,  they  lost  the  wliole,  and  saw  but  the  pale 
faces  of  each  other,  and  the  red  sky  above  them. 

Mr.  Haredale  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of  his 
companion — more  because  he  was  resolved  to 
defend  him  to  the  last,  than  for  any  thoutrht  he 
had  of  his  own  life,  or  any  care  he  entertained 
for  his  own  safety — and  quickly  re-entering  the 
house,  they  descended  the  stairs  together.  Loud 
blows  were  thundering  on  the  shutters,  crowbars 
were  already  thrust  beneath  the  door,  the  glas 


fore  him  Edward  Chester,  and  then  saw,  when 
the  vintner  gasped  his  name,  Joe  Willet. 

Ay,  the  same  Joe,  though  with  an  arm  the 
less,  who  used  to  make  the'quartei  ly  joirrney  on 
the  grey  mare  to  pay  the  bill  to  the  purple-faced 
vintner;  and  that  very  same  purple-faced  vint- 
ner, tbrmerly  of  Thames  Street,  now  looked  him 
in  the  face,  and  challenged  him  by  name 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  Joe  softly,  taking 
it  whether  the  astonished  vintner  would  or  no. 
"  Don't  fear  to  shake  it,  man ;  it 's  a  friendly  one 
and  a  hearty  one,  though  it  has  no  fellow. 
Why,  how  well  you  look  and  how  bluff  you  are! 
And  you— God  bless  you,  sir.  Take  heart,  take 
heart.  We'll  find  them.  Be  of  good  cheer; 
we  have  not  been  idle." 

There  was  something  so  honest  and  frank  in 
Joe's  speech,  that  Mr.  Haredale  put  his  hand  in 
his  involuntarily,  though  their  meeting  was  sus- 
picious enough.  But  his  glance  at  Edward 
Chester,  and  that  gentleman's  keeping  aloof, 
were  not  lost  upon  Joe,  who  said  bluntly"  glanc- 
ing at  Edward  while  he  spoke: 

"  Times  are  changed,  Mr.  Haredale,  and  times 
have  come  when  we  ought  to  know  friends  from 
enemies,  and  make  no  confusion  of  names.  Let 
me  tell  you  that  but  for  this  gentleman,  you 
would  most  likely  have  bei3n  dead  by  this  time, 
or  badly  wounded  at  the  best." 

"  What  do  you  say  !"  asked  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  I  say,"  said  Joe,  "  first,  that  it  was  a  bold 
thing  to  be  in  the  crowd  at  all  disguised  as  one 
of  them;  though  I  won't  say  mucli  abfjut  that, 


fell  from  the  sashes,  a  deep  lio-ht  shone  throuo-h  i""    second    thoughts,    for  that's   my   case  too. 

■    ■        "         "  "^      Secondly,  that  it  was  a  brave  and  glorious  action 

—that's  what  I  call  it— to  strikelhat  feliow  of} 

his  horse  before  their  eyes  ! 


every  crevice,  and  they  heard  the  voices  »f  the 
foremost  in  the  crowd  so  close  to  every  chink 
and  keyhole,  that  they  seemed  to  be  hoarsely 
whispering  their  threats  into  their  very  ears. 
They  had  but  a  mom.mt  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  celler-steps  and  shut  the  door  behind  them, 
when  the  mob  broke  in. 

The  vaults  were  profoundly  dark,  and  having 
no  torch  or  candle— for  they  had  been  afraid  to 
carry  one,  lest  it  should  betray  their  place  of  le- 
fuo-e  —  they  were  obliged  to  grope  with  their 
hands.  But  they  were  not  long  without  light, 
for  they  had  not  gone  far  when  they  heard  "the 
crowd  forcing  the  door;  and,  looking  back  among 
the  low-arched  passages,  could  see  them  in  the 
distance,  hurryinnf  to  and  fro  with  flashinfj  links, 
broaching  the  casks,  stavingr  the  crreat  vats,  torn- 
iti?  off  upon  the  right  hand  and  die  left,  into  the 
different  cellars,  and  lying  down  to  drink  at  the 
channels  of  strong  spirits  which  were  already 
flowing  fast  upon  the  groimd. 

They  hurried  on,  not  the  less  quickly  for  this ; 
and  had  reached  the  only  vault  which  lay  be- 
tween them  and  the  passage  out,  when  suddenly, 
from  the  direction  in  which  they  were  goincr,  a 
strong  light  gleamed  upon  their  faces;  ancLbe- 
fbre  they  could  slip  aside,  or  turn  back,  or  hide  , 
themselves,  two  men  (one  bearing  a  torch)  came 
upon  them,  and  cried  in  an  astonished  whisper, 
"Here  they  are!"  | 


What  fellow  !     "Whose  eyes  !" 

"  What  fellow,  sir !"  cried  Joe :  "  a  fellow  who 
has  no  good-will  to  you,  and  who  has  the  daring 
and  devilry  in  him  of  twenty  fellows.  I  know 
him  of  old.  Once  in  the  house,  ke.  would  have 
found  you,  here  or  anywhere.  The  rest  ove 
you  no  particular  griidije,  and,  unless  they  see 
you,  will  only  think  of  drinking  themselves  dead. 
But  we  lo>e  time.     Are  you  ready  ]" 

"  Quite,"  said  Edward,  "  Put  out  the  torch, 
Joe,  and  go  on.  And  be'  silent,  there  's  a  good 
fellow." 

"  Silent  or  not  silent,"  murmured  Joe,  as  he 
dropped  the  fiaring  link  upon  the  ground,  crush- 
ed it  with  his  foot,  and  gave  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Haredale,  "  it  was  a  brave  and  glorious  action  ; 
— no  man  can  alter  tliat." 

Both  Mr.  Haredale  and  the  worthy  vintner 
were  too  amazed  and  too  much  hurried  to  ask 
any  further  questions,  so  followed  their  conduct- 
ors in  silence.  It  seemed,  from  a  short  whisper- 
ing wliich  presently  ensued  between  them  and 
the  vintner  relative  to  the  best  way  of  escape, 
that  they  had  entered  bv  the  back-door,  with 
the  connivance  of  John  Grueby,  who  watched 
outside  with  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  whom 
they  had  taken  into  their  confidence.  A  part 
coniinn 


At  the  same  instant  they  pulled  off  what  they  I  of  the  crowd  comino-  up  that  way,  just  as  thev 
wore  upon  their  heads.     Mr.  Haredale  saw  be- 1  entered,  John  had  dJuble-locked  "the  door  again', 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


271 


and  made  off  for  the  soldiers,  so  that  means  of 
retreat  was  cut  from  under  tliein. 

However,  as  tlie  front  door  had  been  forced, 
and  this  uiinor  crowd,  beinw  anxious  to  set  at 
the  liquor,  had  no  fancy  for  losing  time  in  break- 
injT  down  another,  but  had  <;oiie  round  and  got 
in  from  Ilolborn  with  the  rest,  tiie  narrow  lane 
in  the  rt.'ar  was  quite  free  of  people.  So  when 
tney  had  crawled  through  the  passage  indicated 
by  the  vintner  (which  was  a  mere  shelving-trap 
for  the  admission  of  casks,)  and  had  managed 


with  some  difficulty  to  unchain  and  mise  the 
door  at  the  upper  end,  they  emerged  into  the 
street  without  bf.'ing  observed  or  interrupted. 
Joe  still  holding  Mr.  Ilaredale  tight,  and  Edward 
taking  the  sanie  care  of  the  vmtmr,  they  hur- 
ried tiirough  the  streets  at  a  rapid  pace  ;  occa- 
sionally standing  aside  to  let  some  fuiritives  go 
by,  or  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  soldiers  who 
followed  them,  and  whose  questions,  when  they 
halted  to  put  any,  were  speedily  slopped  by  one 
whispered  woid  from  Joe. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-EIGIITII. 


While  Newgate  was  burning  on  the  previous 
night,  Birnabyand  his  father,  having  been  pass- 
ed among  the  crowd  froui  hand  to  hand,  stood  in 
Smithfield,  on  the  outskirts  of  the  mob,  gazing 
at  the  flames  like  men  who  had  been  suddenly 
roused  from  sleep.  Some  moments  elapsed  be- 
fore they  could  distinctly  remember  where  they 
were,  or  liow  they  got  there;  or  recolI<>cted  that 
while  they  were  standing  idle  and  listless  spec- 
tators of  the  fire,  they  had  tools  in  their  hands 
which  bad  been  hurriedly  given  them  that  they 
might  free  themselves  from  their  fetters. 

Barnaby,  heavily  ironed  as  he  was,  if  he  ha<l 
obeyed  his  first  impulse,  or  if  he  had  been  alone, 
would  have  made  his  way  back  to  the  side  of 
Hugh,  who  to  his  clouded  intellect  now  shone 
fcMi  with  the  new  lustre  of  being  his  preserver 
and  truest  friend.  But  his  father's  terror  of  re- 
maining in  the  streets,  communicated  itself  to 
him  when  he  comprehended  the  full  e.xtent  of 
his  fears,  and  impressed  him  with  the  same 
eagerness  to  fly  to  a  place  of  safety. 

In  a  corner  of  the  market  among  the  pens  for 
cattle,  Barnaby  knelt  down,  and  piu^sing  every 
now  and  then  to  pass  his  hand  over  his  father's 
face,  or  look  up  to  him  with  a  smile,  knocked  ofl^ 
his  irons.  When  he  had  seen  him  spring,  a  free 
man,  to  his  feet,  and  had  given  vent  to  the 
transport  of  delight  which  the  sight  awakened, 
he  went  to  work  upon  his  own,  which  soon  fell 
rattling  down  upon  the  ground,  and  left  his 
limbs  unfettered. 

Glidinnr  away  together  when  this  task  was 
accomplished,  and  passing  several  groups  of 
men,  each  gathered  round  a  stooping  figure  to 
hide  him  from  those  who  passed,  but  unable  to 
repress  the  clanking  sound  of  hammers,  which 
told  that  thpy  too  were  busy  at  the  same  work, 
— the  two  fugitives  made  towards  Clerkenwell, 
and  passing  thence  to  Islington,  as  the  nearest 
point  of  egress,  were  quickly  in  the  fields. 
After  wandering  about  for  a  long  time,  they 
found  in  a  pasture  near  Finchley  a  poor  shed, 
with  walls  of  mud,  and  roof  of  grass  and  bram- 


bles, built  for  some  cow-herd,  but  now  deserted. 
Here  tliey  lay  down  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

Tliey  wandered  up  and  down  when  it  was 
day,  and  once  Barnaby  went  ofi'  alone  to  a  clus- 
ter  of  little  cottages  two  or  three  U)iles  away, 
to  purchase  bread  and  milk.  But  finding  no 
better  shelter,  tliej  returned  to  the  same  place, 
and  lay  down  agam  to  wail  for  night. 

Heaven  alone  can  tell,  with  what  vague 
thoughts  of  duty,  and  affection ;  with  what 
strange  promptings  of  nature,  intelligible  to  him 
as  to  a  mln  of  radiant  mind  and  mo^t  enlarged 
capacity;  with  what  dim  memories  of  children 
he  liad  played  with  when  a  child  himself,  wiio 
had  prattled  of  their  fathers,  and  of  loving  them, 
and  being  loved  ;  with  how  many  halt-remem- 
bered, dreamy  associations  of  his  mother's  grief 
and  tears  and  widowhood  ;  he  watciied  and  tend- 
ed this  man.  But  that  a  vague  and  shadowy 
crowd  of  such  ideas  came  slowly  on  him  ;  that 
they  taught  him  to  be  sorry  when  he  looked 
upon  his  haggard  face,  that  they  overflowed  his 
eyes  when  he  stooped  to  kiss  him  on  the  cheek, 
that  they  kept  him  waking  in  a  tearful  gladness, 
shading  him  from  the  sun,  fanning  him  with 
leaves,  soothing  him  when  he  started  in  his 
sleep — ah  !  what  a  troubled  sleep  it  was — and 
wondering  when  she  would  come  to  join  them 
and  be  happy,  is  the  Truth.  He  sat  beside  him 
all  that  day;  listening  for  her  footstep  in  every 
breath  of  air,  looking  for  her  shadow  on  the 
gently-waving  grass,  twining  the  hedge  flowers 
for  her  pleasure  when  she  came,  and  his  when 
he  awoke;  and  stooping  down  from  time  to  time 
to  listen  to  his  mutterings,  and  wonder  why  he 
was  so  restless  in  that  quiet  place.  The  sun 
went  down,  and  night  came  on,  and  he  wasstdl 
quite  tranquil ;  busied  with  these  thouijhts,  aa 
if  there  were  no  other  people  in  the  world,  and 
the  dull  cloud  of  sm  )ke  hanging  on  the  innnense 
city  in  the  distance,  hid  no  vices,  no  crimes,  no 

I  life  or  death,  or  causes  of  disquiet — nothing  but 

1  clear  air. 

I      But  the  hour  had  no>v  come  when  he  must  gs 


272 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


alone  to  find  out  the  blind  man,  (a  tapk  that  fill- 
ed hiin  witli  deliglit,)  and  bring:  hini  to  that 
place;  takincf  especial  care  that  he  was  not 
watched  or  followed  on  his  way  back.  He  lis- 
tened to  the  directions  he  nnust  observe,  repeat- 
ed them  atjain  and  again;  and  after  twice  or 
thrice  returninfj  to  surprise  his  fatiier  with  a 
ligiit-heartcd  laugh,  went  forth,  at  last,  upon  his 
errand  :  leaving  Grip,  whom  he  had  carried 
from  the  juil  in  his  arms,  to  his  care. 

Fleet  of  font,  and  anxious  to  return,  he  sped 
swiftly  on  towards  the  city,  but  could  not  reach 
it  before  the  fires  began  and  made  the  night 
angry  with  their  dismal  lustre.  When  he  en- 
tered the  town — it  might  be  that  he  was  changed 
by  going  there  without  his  late  companions,  and 
sn  noviolent  errand  ;  or  by  the  beautiful  solitude 
n  whicii  he  had  passed  the  day,  or  by  the 
oouglits  that  had  come  upon  him, — but  it  seem- 
ed peopled  by  a  legion  of  devils.  This  flight 
and  pursuit,  this  cruel  burning  and  destroying, 
these  dreadful  cries  and  stunning  noises,  were 
they  the  good  Lord's  noble  cause  ! 

Though  almost  stupefied  by  the  bewildering 
scene,  still  he  found  the  blind  man's  house.  It 
was  shut  up  and  tenantless.  He  waited  for  a 
long  while,  but  no  one  came.  At  last  he  with- 
drew; and  as  he  knew  by  this  time  that  the 
soldiers  were  firing,  and  many  people  must  have 
been  killed,  he  went  down  into  Holborn,  where 
he  heard  the  great  crowd  was,  to  try  if  ho  could 
find  Hugh,  and  persuade  him  to  avoid  the  dan- 
ger, and  n  turn  with  him. 

If  he  had  been  stunned  and  shocked  before, 
his  horror  was  increased  a  thousand-fold  when 
he  got  into  this  vortex  of  the  riot,  and  not  being 
an  actor  in  the  terrible  spectacle,  had  it  all  be- 
fore his  eyes.  But  there,  in  the  midst,  towering 
a!)ove  *!ieni  all,  close  bpfore  the  house  they  were 
attacking  now,  was  Hugh  on  horseback,  calling 
to  the  rest ! 

Sickened  by  the  sights  surrounding  him  on 
every  side,  and  by  the  heat  and  roar,  and  crash, 
he  forced  his  way  among  the  crowd  (wiiere 
many  recognised  him,  and  with  shouts  pressed 
back  to  let  him  pass),  and  in  time  was  nearly 
up  with  Hugh,  who  was  sava<:ely  threatening 
some  one,  but  whom,  or  what  he  said  he  could 
not,  in  the  great  confusion,  understand.  At 
that  moment  the  crowd  forced  their  way  into 
the  house,  and  Hugh — it  was  impossible  to  see 
ny  what  means,  in  such  a  concourse — fell  head- 
'ongf  down. 

Barnaby  was  beside  him  when  he  staggered 
10  his  feet.  It  was  well  he  made  him  hear  his 
voice,  or  Hugh,  with  his  uplifted  axe,  would 
have  cloft  his  skull  in  twain. 

"Barnaby — you  !  Whose  hand  was  that,  that 
struck  me  down  ]" 

"  Not  mine." 

"Whose! — I  say,  whose!"  he  cried,  reeling 
hack,  and  looking  wildly  round.  "  What  are 
wo  doing?     Where  is  he?     Show  me  !" 

"  You  are  hurt,"  said  Barnaby — as  indeed  h-e 
was,  in  the  head,  both  by  the  blow  he  had  re- 
reived,  and  by  his  horse's  hoof.  "  Come  away 
with  me." 


As  he  spoke,  he  took  the  horse's  bridle  in  liia 
hand,  turned  him,  and  dragged  Hugh  several 
paces.  This  brought  them  oul  of  the  crowd, 
which  was  pouring  from  the  street  into  the  vint- 
ner's cellars. 

"Where's  —  where 's  Dennis?"  said  Hugh, 
coming  to  a  stop,  and  checking  Barnaby  witti 
his  strong  arm.  "  Where  has  he  been  all  day? 
What  did  he  mean  by  leaving  me  as  he  did,  in 
the  jail,  last  night?    Tell  me,  you — d'ye  liear!" 

VVith  a  flourish  of  his  dangerous  weapon,  he 
fell  down  upon  the  ground  like  a  ]rg.  After  a 
minute,  though  already  frantic  with  drinking 
and  with  the  wound  in  his  liead,  he  crawled  to 
a  stream  of  burning  spirit  which  was  pouring 
down  the  kennel,  and  began  to  drink  at  it  as  if 
it  were  a  brook  of  water. 

Barnaby  drew  him  away,  and  forced  him  to 
rise.  Though  he  could  neitlier  stand  nor  walk, 
he  involuntarily  staggered  to  his  horse,  climbed 
upon  his  back,  and  clung  there.  After  vainly 
attempting  to  divest  the  animal  of  his  clanking 
trappings,  Barnaby  sprang  up  behind  him, 
snatched  the  bridle,  turned  into  Leather  Lane, 
which  was  close  at  hand,  and  urged  the  friglit- 
ened  horse  into  a  heavy  gallop. 

He  looked  back  once  before  he  lefl  the  street; 
and  looked  upon  a  sight  not  easily  to  be  erased, 
even  from  his  remenjbrance,  so  long  as  he  had 
life. 

The  vintner's  house,  with  half  a  dozen  others 
near  at  hand,  was  one  great,  glowing  blaze. 
All  night,  no  one  had  essayed  to  quench  the 
flames  or  stop  their  progress;  but  now  a  body  of 
soldiers  were  actively  engaged  in  pulling  down 
two  old  wooden  houses,  which  were  every  mo- 
ment in  danger  of  taking  fire,  ar.d  which  could 
scarcely  fail,  if  they  were  left  to  burn,  to  extend 
the  conflagration  immen.sely.  The  tumbling 
down  of  nodding  walls  and  heavy  blocks  of  wood, 
the  hooting  and  the  execrations  of  the  crowd, 
the  distant  firing  of  other  military  detachments, 
the  distracted  looks  and  cri^'s  of  those  whose 
habitations  were  in  danger,  the  hurrying  to  and 
fro  of  frightened  people  with  their  goods;  the 
reflections  in  every  quarter  of  the  sky,  of  deep, 
red,  soaring  flames,  as  though  the  last  day  had 
come  and  the  whole  universe  were  burning;  the 
dust,  and  smoke,  and  drift  of  fiery  particles, 
scorching  and  kindling  all  it  fell  upon;  the  hot 
unwholesome  vapour,  the  blight  on  everything; 
the  stars,  and  moon,  and  very  sky,  obliterated; 
— made  up  such  a  sum  of  dreariufss  and  ruin, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  face  of  Heaven  weie 
blotted  ouf,  and  night,  in  its  rest  and  quiet,  and 
softened  light,  never  could  look  upon  the  earth 
again. 

But  there  was  a  worse  spectacle  than  this — 
worse  by  far  than  fire  and  smoke,  or  even  the 
rabble's  unappeasable  and  maniac  rage.  The 
gutters  of  the  street  and  every  crack  and  fissure 
in  the  stones,  ran  with  scorching  spirit;  which, 
being  dammed  up  by  busy  hands,  overflowed  the 
road  and  pavement,  and  formed  a  great  pool, 
in  which  the  people  dropped  down  dead  bv 
dozens.  They  lay  in  heaps  all  round  this  fear- 
ful pond,  husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and  sons, 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


273 


mothers  and  daughters,  women  witli  cliildron 
m  their  arms  ami  buhios  at  their  hrcasts,  and 
drank  until  they  died.  Whde  s^oini;  stooped 
with  their  lips  to  the  brink  and  never  raised 
their  heads  an-;uti,  others  spranir  np  from  their 
fiery  drano-hi,  and  danced,  half  in  a  mad  tri- 
umph, and  half  in  the  ajrony  of  suflbcation,  until 
th^y  fell,  and  steeped  iheir  corpses  in  the  liquor 
that  liad  killed  them.  Nor  was  even  this  the 
vvorst  or  most  appalling  kind  of  death  that  hap- 
pened on  this  fatal  night.  From  the  burning 
cellars,  where  they  drank  out  of  hats,  pails, 
buckets,  tubs,  and  shoes,  some  men  were  drawn. 


alive,  but  all  alight  from  head  fo  foot ;  who,  in 
their  unendurable  anguish  and  sufferinir,  making 
for  anything  that  had  the  look  of  water,  rolled, 
hissing,  in  this  hideous  lake,  and  splashed  up 
liquid  fire  which  lapped  in  all  it  met  with  as  it 
ran  along  the  surface,  and  neither  spared  the 
living  nor  the  dead.  On  this  last  night  of  the 
great  riots  —  for  the  last  night  it  was  —  the 
wretched  victims  of  a  senseless  outcry  became 
themselves  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  flames  they 
liad  kindled,  and  strewed  the  public  streets  ol 
London. 

With  all  he  saw  in  this  last  trlance  fi.vcd  in 


delibly  upon  his  mind,  Barnaby  hurried  from  I  where  his  father  lay,  and  with  some  difficulty 
the  city  which  inclosed  such  horrors;  and,  hold-  making  Hugh  sensible  that  he  must  disu)ount, 
ing  down  his  head  that  he  might  not  even  see  i  sunk  the  iiorse's  furniture  in  a  pool  of  st.itfiiant 
the  glare  of  the  tires  upon  the  quiet  landscape,  water,  and  turned  the  animal  loose.  Tliat  done, 
was  soon  in  the  still  country  roads.  j  he  supported  his  companion  as  well  as  he  could, 

He  stopped  at  about  half-a-mile  from  the  shed    and  led  him  slowly  forward. 


S8 


2K 


274 


BARNABY  BUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SIXTY-NINTH. 


It  was  the  dead  of  ni^ht,  and  very  dark,  when 
Barnaby,  with  his  stuiiibliiig  companion,  ap- 
proached the  place  where  he  had  left  his  father; 
but  he  could  .<ee  him  stealing  away  into  the 
gloom,  distrustful  even  of  him,  and  rapidly  re- 
treatinir.  After  calling  to  him  twice  or  thrice 
that  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  but  without  ef- 
fect, he  suffered  Hugh  to  sink  upon  the  ground, 
and  followinl,  to  bring  him  back. 

lie  continued  to  creep  away,  until  Barnaby 
was  close  upon  him  ;  then  turned,  and  said  in  a 
terrible,  though  suppressed  voice: 

"  Let  mc  go.  Do  not  lay  hands  upon  ine. 
Stand  back.  You  have  told  her;  and  you  and 
she  together,  have  betrayed  me!" 

Barnaby  looked  at  him,  in  silence. 

"  You  have  seen  your  mother  !" 

"  No,"  cried  Barnaby,  eagerly.  "Not  for  a 
longtime  —  longer  than  I  can  tell.  A  whole 
year,  I  think.     Is  she  herel" 

His  father  looked  upon  him  steadfastly  for  a 
few  moments,  tlien  said — drawing  nearer  to  him 
as  he  spoke,  fi)r,  seeing  his  face,  and  hearing  his 
words,  it  was  impossible  to  doubt  his  truth  : 

"  What  man  is  that !" 

"  Hurrh — Hugh.  Only  Hugh.  You  know 
him.  lie.  will  not  harm  you.  Why,  you're 
afraid  of  Hugh!  Ha  ha  ha!  Afraid  of  gruff, 
old,  ncisy  Hugh!" 

"  What  man  is  he,  I  ask  you,"  he  rejoined  so 
fiercely,  that  Barnaby  stopped  in  his  laugh,  and 
shrinking  back,  surveyed  iiim  with  a  look  of  ter- 
rified amazement. 

"  Why,  iiow  stern  you  are  !  You  make  me 
fear  you,  thouMi  you  are  my  father  —  I  never 
feared  her.     Why  do  you  speak  to  me  so  V 

— "  I  want,"  he  answered,  putting  away  the 
hand  which  his  son,  with  a  timid  desire  to  pro- 
pitiate him,  laid  upon  his  sleeve, — "I  want  an 
answer,  and  you  give  me  only  jeers  and  ques- 
tions. Who  have  you  brouo-ht  with  you  to  this 
hiding-place,  poor  tool;  and  where  is  the  blind 
manl" 

"  I  don't  know  where.  His  house  was  close 
shut.  I  waited,  but  no  person  came;  that  was 
no  fault  of  mine.  Tiiis  is  Hugh — brave  Hnirh, 
who  broke  into  that  ugly  jail,  and  set  us  free. 
Aha!  You  like  iiim  now,  do  you.'  Vou  like 
him  now  !" 

"  Why  does  he  lie  upon  the  ground  ]" 

"He  has  had  a  fall,  and  has  been  drinking. 
The  fields  and  trees  go  roun  1,  and  round,  and 
round,  with  him,  and  the  ground  heavs  under 
his  feet.  You  know  him  ■?  You  remember  ! 
See !" 

They  iiad  by  this  time  returned  to  where  he 
lay,  and  both  stooped  over  him  to  look  into  his 
face. 

"  I  recollect  the  man,"  his  father  murmured. 
••  Why  did  you  bring  him  here  ■?" 

"  Because  he  would  have  been  killed  if  1  had 
efl  him  over  yonder.     They  were  firing  guns, 


and  shedding  blood.  Does  the  sight  of  bloi-xj 
turn  you  sick,  father  1  I  S(.^e  it  does,  by  your 
face.  That 's  like  me — What  are  you  looking 
at]" 

"  At  nothing !"  said  the  murderer,  softly,  as 
he  started  back  a  pace  or  two,  and  gazed  with 
sunken  jaw  and  staring  eyes  above  his  son's 
head.     "At  nothing !" 

He  remained  in  the  same  attitude  and  with 
the  same  expression  on  his  face  for  a  minute  or 
more;  then  glanced  slowly  round  as  if  ho  Jiad 
lost  something;  and  went  shivering  back,  to- 
wards the  shed. 

"  Shall  I  bring  him  in,  father!"  asked  Barna- 
by, who  had  looked  on,  wondering. 

He  only  answered  with  a  suppressed  groan, 
and  lying  down  upon  the  ground,  wrapped  hi^ 
cloak  about  his  head,  and  shrunk  into  the  dark':  st 
corner. 

Finding  that  nothing  would  rouse  Hu.o-h  now, 
or  make  him  sensible  for  a  moment,  Barnaby 
dragged  him  along  the  grass,  and  laid  him  on  a 
little  heap  of  refuse  hay  and  straw,  Vv'liich  had 
been  his  own  bed;  first  having  brought  some 
water  from  a  running  stream  hard  by,  and  washed 
his  wound,  and  laved  his  hands  and  face.  Then 
he  lay  down  himself,  between  the  two,  to  pass 
the  night ;  and  looking  at  the  stars,  fell  fast 
asleep. 

Awakened  early  in  the  morning,  by  the  sun- 
shine, and  the  songs  of  birds,  and  the  hum  of  in- 
sects, he   left  them   sleeping   in   the  hut,  and 
walked  into  the  sweet  and  pleasant  air.    But  he 
felt  that  on  his  jaded  senses,  oppressed  and  bur- 
dened with  the  dreadful  scenes  of  last  night,  and 
many  nights  before,  all  the  beauties  of-  opening 
day, "which  he  had  so  often  tasted,  and  in  which 
he  had  had  such  deep  delight,  fell  heavily.     He 
thought  of  the  blithe  mornings  when  he  and  the 
dogs  went  bounding  on    together  through  the 
woods  and  fields;  and  the  recollection  filled  his 
eyes  with  tears.     He  had  no  consciousness,  God 
help  him,  of  having  done  wrong,  nor  liad  he  any 
new  perception  of  the  merits  of  the  cause  in 
which  he  had  been  engaged,  or  those  of  the  men 
who  advocated  it ;  but  he  was  full  of  cares  now, 
and  regrets,  and  dismal  recollections,  and  w  ishei 
(quite  unknown  to  him  before,)  that  this  or  that 
j  event  \\m\  never  happened,  and  that  the  sorrow 
I  and  suff 'rino-  of  so  many  people  had  been  spared. 
I  And  now  he  began  to  think   how  happy  they 
I  would   be — his  father,  mother,  he,  and  Hugh — 
I  if  they  rambled  away  together,  and  lived  in  some 
!  lonely  place,  where  there  were  none  of  thesii 
•  troubles;  and  that  perhaps  the  blind  man,  who 
i  fiad  talked  so  wisely  about  gold,  and  told  him  of 
the  (Treat  secrets  he  knew,  could  teach  t.hem  how 
to  live  without   being   pinched  and   griped  by 
want.    As  this  occurred  to  him,  he  was  the  more 
sorry  that  he  had  not  seen  him  last  night;  and 
he  was  still  broodino-  over  this  regret,  when  his 
father  came,  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


275 


"All!"  cried  Barnaby,  startincf  from  his  fit 
of  thonplittuiness.     "  Is  it  only  you  !" 

"Who  should  it  be?" 

"  (  almost  thought,"  he  answered,  "  it  was 
the  blind  man.  1  must  have  some  talk  with 
him,  father." 

"And  so  must  I,  for  without  seeing:  h>m>  I 
don't  knew  wliere  to  fly  or  wiiat  to  do;  and 
lingering  here,  is  death.  You  must  go  to  liim 
iT-tun,  and  brmg  him  here." 
°"  Must  I !"  cried  Barnaby,  delighted  ;  "that's 
jravp,  father.     That 's  wiiat  I  wnnt  to  do." 

"But  you  must  bring  only  him,  and  none 
^;ther.  And  though  you  wait  at  his  door  a 
whole  dny  and  night,  still  you  must  wait,  and 
not  come  back  without  him." 

"  Don't  you  fear  that,"  he  cried  gaily.  "  lie 
chall  cotne,  he  shall  come." 

"Trim  off' these  gewgaws,'*  said  his  father, 
plucking  the  scraps  of  ribbon  and  the  frathers 
from  his  hat,  "and  over  your  own  dress,  wear 
my  cloak.  Take  heed  how  you  go,  and  they 
will  be  too  busy  in  the  streets  to  notice  you. 
Of  your  coming  back  you  need  take  no  account, 
for  he'll  manage  that,  sateiy." 

"  To  be  sure  !"  said  Barnaby.  "  To  be  sure 
ho  will !  A  wise  man,  father,  and  one  who  can 
teach  us  to  be  rich  !  Oh  !  I  know  him,  1  know 
him," 

He  was  speedily  dressed ;  and,  as  well  dis- 
guised as  he  could  be,  with  a  lighter  heart  he 
then  set  otf  upon  his  second  journey  ;  leaving 
Hufih,  who  was  still  in  a  drunken  stupor, 
stretched  upon  the  gronad  within  the  shed,  and 
his  fatiier  walkins'  to  and  fro  before  it. 

The  murderer,  full  of  anxious  thoughts,  looked 
after  him,  and  paced  up  and  down,  disquieted 
by  every  breath  of  air  that  whispered  among 
the  boughs,  and  by  every  light  shadow  thrown 
by  tiic  p;issinff  clouds  upon  the  daisied  ground. 
He  was  anxious  for  his  safe  return,  and  yet, 
though  his  own  life  and  safety  hung  upon  it, 
felt  a  relief  while  he  was  gone.  In  the  intense 
selfishness  which  the  constant  presence  before 
him  of  liis  great  crimes,  and  their  consequences 
here  an<l  iiercafter,  engendered,  every  thought 
of  Barnaby,  as  his, son,  was  swallowed  up  and 
lost.  Still,  his  presence  was  a  torture  and  re- 
proach; in  his  wild  eyes,  there  were  terrible 
images  of  that  guilty  night;  with  his  uneaithly 
aspect,  and  his  halfformed  mind,  he  seemed  to 
the  murderer  a  creature  who  had  sprung  into 
existence  from  his  victim's  blood.  He  could 
not  bear  his  look,  his  voice,  his  touch;  and  yet 
was  forced,  by  his  own  desperate  condition  and 
his  only  hope  of  cheating  the  gibbet,  to  have 
him  by  his  side,  and  to  know  that  he  was  inse- 
parable from  his  single  chance  of  escape. 

He  walked  to  and  fro,  with  little  rest,  all 
day,  revolving  these  things  in  his  mind  ;  and 
still  Hu2fh  lay,  unconscious,  in  the  shed.  At 
length,  when  the  sun  was  setting,  Barnaby  re- 
turned, leading  the  blind  man,  and  talking  earn- 
estly to  hirn  as  they  came  along  together. 

The  murderer  advanced  to  meet  them,  and 
bidding  his  son  go  on  and  speak  to  Hugh,  who 
had  just  then  staggered   to  his  feet,  look  his 


place  at  the  blind  man's  elbow,  and  slowly  fol 
low^ed,  towards  the  shed. 

"  Why  did  you  send  Imn?"  said  Stagg.  "  Don') 
you  know  it  was  the  way  to  have  him  lost,  aa 
soon  as  found  ?" 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  come  myself!"  re- 
turned the  other. 

"Humph!  Perhaps  not.  I  was  before  the 
jail  on  Tuesday  night,  but  missed  you  in  the 
crowd.  I  was  out  last  night,  too.  Tiicre  was 
good  work  last  night  —  gay  work  —  profitable 
work"  —  he  added,  rattling  the  money  in  his 
pockets. 

"  Have  you — " 

— "Seen  your  good  lady?     Yes." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  more,  or  not?" 

"I'll  tell  you  all,"  returned  the  blind  man, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Excuse  me — but  I  love  to  see 
you  so  impatient.     There  's  energy  in  it." 

"  Does  she  conseat  to  say  the  word  that  may 
save  me?" 

"No,"  returned  the  blind  man  emphatically, 
as  he  turned  his  face  towards  him.  "  No.  Thus 
it  is.  She  has  been  at  death's  door  since  she 
lost  her  darling  —  has  been  insensible,  and  1 
know  not  what.  I  tracked  her  to  a  hospital, 
and  presented  myself  (whh  your  leave)  at  her 
bed-side.  Our  talk  was  not  a  long  one,  for  she 
was  weak,  and  there  being  people  near,  1  was 
not  quite  easy.  But  I  told  her  all  that  you  and 
I  agreed  upon  ;  and  pointed  out  the  young  gen- 
tleman's position,  in  strong  terms.  She  tried  tc 
soften  me,  but  that,  of  course  (as  I  told  her) 
was  lost  time.  She  cried  and  moaned,  you  may 
be  sure;  all  women  do.  Then,  of  a  sudden, 
she  found  her  voice  and  strength,  and  said  liiat 
Heaven  would  help  her  and  her  innocent  son; 
and  that  to  Heaven  she  appealed  against  us — 
which  she  did;  in  really  very  pretty  language, 
I  assure  you.  I  advised  her,  as  a  friend,  not  to 
count  too  much  upon  assistance  from  any  such 
distant  quarter — recommended  her  to  think  of 
it — told  her  where  I  lived — .said  I  knew  she 
would  send  to  me  before  noon,  next  duy — and 
left  her,  either  in  a  faint  or  shamming." 

When  he  had  concluded  this  narration,  during 
which  he  had  made  several  pauses,  for  the  con- 
venience of  cracking  and  eating  nuts,  of  which 
he  seemed  to  have  a  pocketful,  the  blind  man 
pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  took  a  draught 
liimself,  and  offered  it  to  his  companion. 

"You  won't,  won't  you?"  he  said,  feeling  Jiat 
he  pushed  it  from  hiin.  "Well!  Then  the 
nfallant  gentleman  who's  lodging  with  you,  wilL 
Hallo,  bully  !" 

"Death!"  said  the  other,  holding  him  back. 
"  Will  you  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do!" 

"Do!  Nothing  easier.  Make  a  moonlight 
flitting  in  two  hours'  time  with  the  young  gen 
tk'man(he's  quite  ready  to  go;  I  have  bfeti 
giving  him  good  advice  as  we  came  alon^)?  and 
get  as  far  from  London  as  you  can.  Let  me 
know  where  you  are,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me. 
S!ie  must  come  round  ;  she  can't  hold  out  long  . 
and  as  to  the  chances  of  your  being  retaken  in 
the  meanwhile,  why  it  wasn't  one  man  who  g'>l 


27G 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


out  of  NewiJ-ate,  but  three  hundred.  Think  of 
that,  for  your  comfort." 

"  Wo  must  support  life. — How?" 

•'How!"  repeated  the  Jjlind  man.  "By  eat- 
ino-  and  drinkinjr.  And  how  get  meat  and  drink, 
but  by  payino-  for  it!  Money  !"  he  cried,  slap- 
ping his  pocket.  "  Is  money  the  word  1  Why, 
the  stroi^ts  have  been  running  money.  Devil 
send  that  the  sport 's  not  over  yet,  for  these  are 
jolly  tiiiios;  golden,  rare,  roaring,  scrambling 
times.  Hallo,  bully!  Hallo!  Hallo!  Drink, 
bully,  drink.     Where  are  ye  there  !     Hallo  !" 

With  such  vociferations,  and  with  a  boister- 
ous manner  which  bespoke  his  perfect  abandon- 
ment to  the  general  license  and  disorder,  he 
groped  his  way  towards  the  shed,  where  Hugh 
and  Btrnaby  were  sitting  on  the  ground,  and 
entered. 

"  Put  it  about!"  he  cried,  handing  his  flask  to 
Hugh.  "The  kennels  run  with  wine  and  gold. 
Guineas  and  strong  water  flow  from  the  very 
pumps.     About  with  it,  don't  spare  it !" 

Exhausted, unwashed,  unshorn;  begrimed  with 
smoke  and  dust;  his  hair  clotted  with  blood;  his 
voice  quite  gone,  so  that  he  spoke  in  whispers; 
his  skin  parched  up  by  fever;  his  whole  body 
bruised,  and  cut,  and  bctiten  about;  Hugh  still 
took  the  flask,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  He  was 
in  the  act  of  drinking,  when  the  front  of  the 
shed  was  suddenly  darkened,  and  Dennis  stood 
before  them. 

"iNo  offence,  no  offence,"  said  that  personage 
in  a  conciliatory  tone,  as  Hugh  stopped  in  his 
draught,  and  eyed  him,  with  no  pleasant  look, 
from  head  to  foot.  "  No  offence,  brother.  Bar- 
naby  here  too,  eh  1  How  are  you,  Barnaby  1 
And  two  other  gentlemen  !  Your  humble  ser- 
vant, gentlemen.  No  offence  to  you  either,  I 
hope.     Eh,  brothers?" 

Notwithstanding  that  he  spoke  in  this  very 
friendly  and  contident  manner,  he  seemed  to 
have  considerable  hesitation  about  entering,  and 
remained  outside  the  roof.  He  was  rather  bet- 
ter dressed  than  usual:  wearing  the  same  suit 
of  thread-bare  black,  it  is  true,  but  having  round 
his'  neck  an  unwholesome-looking  cravat  of  a 
yellowish  white;  and  on  his  hands  great  leather 
gloves,  such  as  a  jjardener  might  wear  in  fol- 
lowing his  trade.  His  shoes  were  newly  greased, 
and  ornamented  with  a  pair  of  rusty  iron  buckles ; 
the  pack-thread  at  his  knees  had  been  renewed  ; 
and  where  he  wanted  buttons,  he  wore  pins. 
Altogether,  he  had  something  the  look  of  a  tip- 
staff, or  a  bailiff's  follower,  desperately  faded, 
but  who  had  a  notion  of  keeping  up  the  appear- 
ance of  a  professional  character,  and  making  the 
best  of  the  worst  means. 

"  You're  very  snug  here,"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
ovjI  ling  out  a  mouldy  pocket-handkerchief,  which 
looked  like  a  decomposed  halter;  and  wiping 
his  forehead  in  a  nervous  manner. 

"  Not  snug  enough  to  prevent  your  finding  us, 
it  seems,"  Hugh  answered,  sulkily. 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  brother,"  said 
Dennis,  with  a  friendly  smile,  "  when  you  don't 
want  me  to  know  which  way  you're  riding,  you 
must  wear  another  sort  of  bells  on  your  horse. 


Ah!  I  know  the  sound  o'them  you  wore  las, 
night,  and  have  got  qiiick  ears  for  'em,  that's 
the  truth.     Well,  but  how  are  you,  brother  ?" 

He  had  by  this  time  approached,  and  uovvven 
tured.to  sit  down  by  him. 

"How  am  I?"  answered  Iluirh.  "  Whero 
were  you  yesterday  ?  Where  did  you  go  when 
you  left  me  in  the  jail  ?  Why  did  you  leave  me  ? 
And  what  did  you  mean  by  rolling  your  eyes 
and  shaking  your  fist  at  me,  eh  ?" 

"I  shake  my  fist! — at  you,  brother!"  said 
Dennis,  gently  checking  Hugh's  uplifted  hand, 
which  looked  threatening. 

"  Your  stick,  then  ;  it's  all  one." 

"  Lord  love  you,  brother,  I  meant  nothing. 
You  don't  understand  me  by  half.  I  shouldn'* 
wonder  now,"  he  added,  in  the  tone  of  a  des 
ponding  and  an  injured  man,  "  but  you  thoiigiit 
because  I  wanted  them  chaps  left  in  the  prison 
that  I  was  agoing  to  desert  the  banners?" 

Hugh  told  him,  with  an  oath,  that  he  did. 

"Well!"  said  I\Ir.  Dennis  mournfully,  "if 
you  an't  enough  to  make  a  man  mistrust  his 
ti^ller-creeturs,  I  don't  know  what  is.  Desert 
the  banners,  eh!  Me!  Ned  Dennis,  as  was  so 
christened  by  his  own  father! — Isthisaxeyour'n, 
brother?" 

"  Yes,  that's  mine,"  said  Hugh,  in  the  same 
sullen  manner  as  before;  "it  might  have  hurt 
you,  if  you  had  come  in  its  way  once  or  twice 
last  night.     Put  it  down." 

"Might  have  hurt  me!"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
still  keeping  it  in  his  hand,  and  feeling  the  edge 
with  an  air  of  abstraction.  "  Might  have  hurt 
me!  and  me  exerting  myself  all  the  time  to  the 
wery  best  advantage.  Here's  a  world  !  And 
you're  not  agoing  to  ask  me  to  take  a  sup  out  of 
that  'ere  bottle,  eh?" 

Hugh  tossed  it  towards  him.  As  he  raised  it 
to  his  lips,  Barnaby  jumped  up,  and  motioning 
them  to  be  silent,  looked  eagerly  out. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Barnaby?"  said  Dennis, 
glancing  at  Hugh  and  dropping  the  flask,  but 
still  holding-  the  axe  in  his  hand. 

"  Hush  !"  he  answered  softly.  "  What  do  I 
see  glittering  behind  the  hedge  !" 

"What!"  cried  the  hangman,  raising  his 
voice  to  its  highest  pitch,  and  laying  hold  of  him 
and  Hugh.     "  Not — not  soldiers,  surely  !" 

That  moment,  the  shed  was  filled  with  armed 
men;  and  a  body  of  horse,  galloping  into  the 
field,  drew  up  before  it. 

"There!"  said  Dennis,  who  remained  un- 
touched among  them  when  they  had  seized  their 
prisoners;  "it's  them  two  young  ones,  gentle- 
men, that  the  proclamation  puts  a  price  on. 
This  other's  an  escaped  felon. — I'm  sorry  tor  it, 
brother,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  resignation,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Hugh;  "but  you've  brought 
it  on  yourself;  you  forced  me  to  do  it;  you 
would'nt  respect  the  soundest  constitootionni 
principles,  you  know  ;  you  went  and  wiolated 
the  wery  frame-work  of  society.  I  had  sooner 
have  given  away  a  trifle  in  charity  than  done 
this,  I  would  upon  my  soul. — If  you'll  keep  fast 
hold  on  'em,  gentlemen,  I  think  I  can  make  a 
shift  to  tie  'em  better  than  you  can." 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


277 


But  this  operation  was  postponed  for  a  few 
tnomenls  by  a  new  occurrence.  Tlie  blind  man, 
whose  ears  were  quicker  than  most  people's 
Eight,  had  becw  alarmed,  before  Barnaby,  by  a 
rustlinij  in  liie  bushes,  under  cover  of  which 
tlie  soldiers  had  advanced.  He  retreated  in- 
stantly— had  hidden  somewhere  for  a  minute — 
and  probably  in  his  confusion  mit^takinij  the  point 
at  which  he  had  emerged,  was  now  seen  running 
across  the  open  meadow. 

An  officer  cried  directly  that  he  had  helped 
to  plunder  a  house  last  night.  He  was  loudly 
called  on,  to  surrender.  He  ran  the  harder,  and 
in  a  few  seconds  would  have  been  out  of  gun- 
shot. The  word  was  given,  and  the  men 
fired. 

There  was  a  breathless  pause  and  a  profound 
silence,  during  which  all  eyes  were  fi.\ed  upon 
him.  He  had  been  seen  to  start  at  the  dis- 
charge, as  if  the  report  had  frightened  him. 
But  he  neither  stopped  nor  slackened  his  pace 
in  the  least,  and  ran  on  full  forty  yards  further. 
Then,  without  one  reel  or  stajjger,  or  sign  of 
faintness,  or  quivering  of  any  limb,  he  dropped. 

Some  of  them  hurried  up  to  where  he  lay  ; — 
the  hangman  with  them.  Every thinsr  had  pass- 
ed so  quickly,  that  the  smoke  was  not  yet  scat- 
tered, but  curled  slowly  off"  in  a  little  cloud, 
which  seemed  like  the  dead  man's  spirit  moving 
solemnly  away.  There  were  a  few  drops  of 
blood  upon  the  grass — more,  when  they  turned 
him  over — that  was  all. 

'•  Look  here !  Look  here  !"  said  the  hang- 
man, stooping  one  knee  beside  the  body,  and 
gazing  up  with  a  disconsolate  face  at  the  officer 
and  men.     "  Here's  a  pretty  sight !" 

"  Stand  cut  of  the  way,"  replied  the  officer. 
"  Serjeant !  see  what  he  had  about  him." 

The  man  turned  his  pockets  out  upon  the 
grass,  and  counted,  besides  some  foreign  coins 
and  two  rings,  five-and-forty  guineas  in  gold. 
These  were  bundled  up  in  a  handkerchief  and 
carried  away;  the  body  remained  there  for  the 
present,  but  six  men  and  the  serjeant  were  left 
to  take  it  to  the  nearest  public  house. 

"Now  then,  if  you're  going,"  said  the  Ser- 
jeant, clapping  Dennis  on  the  back,  and  point- 
ing after  the  officer  who  was  walking  towards 
the  plied. 

To  which  Mr.  Dennis  only  replied,  "  Don't 


talk  to  me!"  and  then  repeated  what  he  had 
said  before,  namely  "Here's  a  pretty  sight!" 

"It's  not  one  that  you  care  for  mucli,  1  should 
think,"  observed  the  serjeant  coolly. 

"  Why,  who,"  said  Mr,  Dennis,  rising,  "  should 
care  for  it,  if  I  don't  I" 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  know  you  was  so  tender-heart- 
ed," said  the  serjeant.     "  That's  all !" 

"Tender-hearted!"  echoed  Dennis.  "Ten- 
der-hearted !  Look  at  this  man.  Do  you  call 
this  constitootionaH  i)o  you  see  him  shot 
through  and  through,  instead  of  being  worked  off 
like  a  Briton]  Damme,  if  I  know  which  party 
to  side  with.  You're  as  bad  as  the  othei. 
What's  to  become  of  the  country  if  the  military 
power's  to  go  a  superseding  the  ciwilians  in  this 
way]  Where's  this  poor  feller-creetur's  rights 
as  a  citizen,  that  he  didn't  have  me  in  his  last 
moments!  I  was  here.  I  was  willing.  I  was 
ready.  These  are  nice  times,  brother,  to  have 
the  dead  crying  out  against  us  in  this  way,  and 
sleep  comfortably  in  our  beds  arterwards  ;  wery 
nice!" 

Whether  he  derived  any  material  consolation 
from  binding  the  prisoners,  is  uncertain  ;  most 
probable  he  did.  At  all  events  his  being  sum- 
moned to  that  work,  diverted  him,  for  the  time, 
from  these  painful  reflections,  and  gave  his 
thoughts  a  more  congenial  occupation. 

They  were  not  all  three  carried  off  together, 
but  in  two  parties;  Barnaby  and  his  father  go- 
ing by  one  road  in  the  centre  of  a  body  of  foot, 
and  Hugh,  fast  bound  upon  a  horse,  and  strongly 
guarded  by  a  troop  of  cavalry,  being  taken  by 
another. 

They  had  no  opportunity  for  the  least  com- 
munication, in  the  short  interval  which  pre- 
ceded their  departure;  being  kept  strictly  apail. 
Hugh  only  observed  that  Barnaby  walked  wilii 
a  drooping  head  among  his  guard,  and,  without 
raising  his  eyes,  that  he  tried  to  wave  his  fet- 
tered hand  when  he  passed.  For  himself,  ho 
buoyed  up  his  courage  as  he  rode  along,  with 
the  assurance  that  the  mob  would  force  his  jail, 
wherever  it  might  be,  and  set  him  at  liberty. 
But  when  they  got  into  London,  and  more  espe- 
cially into  Fleet  Market,  lately  the  stronghold 
of  the  rioters,  where  the  military  were  rooting 
out  the  last  remnant  of  the  crowd,  he  saw  thai 
this  hope  was  gone,  and  felt  that  he  was  riding 
to  his  death. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTIETH. 


Mr.  Dennis  having  despatched  this  piece  of 
business  without  any  personal  hurt  or  inconve- 
nience, and  having  now  retired  into  the  tranquil 
respectability  of  private  life,  resolved  to  solace 
himself  with  half  an  hour  or  so  of  female  society. 
Vn  ith  this  amiable  purpose  in  his  mind,  he  bent 
his  steps  towards  the  house  where  Dolly  and 
Miss  Haredale  were  still  confined,  and  whither 
18 


5Tiss  Miggs  had  also  been  removed  by  order  ct 
Mr.  Simon  Tappertit. 

As  he  walked  along  the  streets,  with  ho 
leather  gloves  clasped  behind  'iim,  ana  his  face 
indicative  of  cheerful  thought  &.iid  pleasant  cal- 
culation, Mr.  Dennis  might  have  been  likeneil 
unto  a  farmer  ruminating  among  his  crr.ps,  and 
enjoying  by  anticipation  the  bountifu'  gifts  oJ 


278 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


Proviilencp.  Look  where  lie  would,  some  heap 
tf  mills  aiFordod  hiin  rich  promise  of  a  working 
off;  the  whole  town  appeared  to  have  been 
pki'.frhed,  and  sown,  and  nurtured  by  most  ge- 
nial weather;  and  a  goodly  harvest  was  at  hand. 

Having  taken  up  arms,  and  resorted  to  deeds 
of  violence,  with  the  great  main  object  of  pre- 
fscrVing  the  Old  Bailey  in  all  its  purity,  and  the 
gallows  in  all  its  pristine  usefulness  and  moral 
grandeur,  it  would  perhaps  be  going  too  far  to 
assert  that  Mr.  Dennis  had  ever  distinctly  con- 
templated and  foreseen  this  happy  state  of  things. 
He  rather  looked  upon  it  as  one  of  those  beauti- 
ful dispensations  which  are  inscrutably  brought 
about  for  the  behoof  and  advantage  of  good  men. 
He  felt,  as  it  were,  personally  referred  to,  in 
this  prosperous  ripening  for  the  gibbet;  and  had 
never  considered  himself  so  much  the  pet  and 
favourite  child  of  Destiny,  or  loved  that  lady  so 
well  or  with  such  a  calm  and  virtuous  reliance, 
in  all  his  life. 

As  to  being  taken  up  himself  for  a  rioter,  and 
punished  with  the  rest,  Mr.  Dennis  dismissed 
that  possibility  from  his  thoughts  as  an  idle  chi- 
mera; arguing  that  the  line  of  conduct  he  had 
adopted  at  Newgate,  and  the  service  he  had 
rendered  that  day,  would  be  more  than  a  set-otf 
against  any  evidence  which  might  identify  him 
as  a  member  of  the  crowd  :  that  any  charge  of 
companionship  which  might  be  made  against 
him  by  those  who  were  themselves  in  danger, 
would  certainly  go  for  nought:  and  that  if  any 
trivial  indiscretion  on  his  part  should  unluckily 
come  out,  the  uncommon  usefulness  of  his  office 
at  present,  and  the  great  demand  for  the  exer- 
cise of  its  functions,  would  certainly  cause  it  to 
be  winked  at  and  passed  over.  In  a  word,  he 
had  played  his  cards  throughout  with  great 
care;  had  changed  sides  at  the  very  nick  of 
time;  had  delivered  up  two  of  the  most  noto- 
rious rioters,  and  a  distinguished  felon  to  boot; 
and  was  quite  at  his  ease. 

Saving — for  there  is  a  reservation ;  and  even 
Mr.  Dennis  was  not  perfectly  happy — saving 
for  one  circumstance;  to  wit,  the  forcible  de- 
tention of  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale,  in  a  house 
almost  adjoining  his  own.  This  Vv'as  a  stum- 
bling-block, for  if  they  were  discovered  and  re- 
leased, they  could,  by  the  testimony  they  had  it 
in  their  power  to  give,  place  him  in  a  situation  of 
great  jeopardy  ;  and  to  set  them  at  liberty,  first 
extorting  from  them  an  oath  of  secresy  and 
silence,  was  a  thing  not  to  be  thought  of.  It 
was  more,  perhaps,  with  an  eye  to  the  danger 
which  lurked  in  this  quarter,  than  from  his  ab- 
stract love  of  conversation  with  the  sex,  that 
the  hangman,  quickening  his  steps,  now  hasten- 
ed into  their  society;  cursing  the  amorous  na- 
tures of  Hugh  and  Mr.  Tappertit  with  great 
heartiness,  at  every  step  he  took. 

When  he  entered  the  miserable  room  in  which 
they  were  confined,  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale 
withdrew  in  si'.ence  to  the  furtiiest  corner.  But 
Miss  Miggs,  who  was  particularly  tender  of  her 
reputation,  immediately  fell  upon  her  knees  and 
began  to  scream  very  loud,  crying  "  What  will 
ffecome  of  me  I" — "  Where  is  my  Simmuns ;" — 


"  Have  mercy,  good  gentleman,  on  my  sex'a 
weakness!"  —  vviih  other  doleful  lamentations 
of  that  nature,  which  she  delivered  with  great 
propriety  and  decorum. 

"Miss,  Miss,"  whispered  Dennis,  beckoning 
to  her  with  his  forefinger,  "come  here — I  wcin't 
hurt  you.     Come  here,  my  lamb,  will  you  T' 

On  hearing  this  tender  epithet,  Miss  Migg?, 
who  had  left  off  screaming  directly  he  opened 
his  lips,  and  had  listened  to  him  attentivel)'. 
began  again:  crying  "Oh  I'm  his  lamb!  He 
says  I'm  iiis  lamb!  Oh  gracious,  why  wasn't 
I  born  old  and  ugly  !  Why  was  I  ever  made  to 
be  the  youngest  of  six,  and  all  of  'em  dead  and 
in  their  blessed  graves,  excepting  one  married 
sister,  which  is  settled  in  Golden  Lion  Court, 
number  twonty-sivin,  second  bell-handle  on 
the — !" 

"Don't  I  say  I  an't  a  going  to  hurt  you?" 
said  Dennis,  pointing  to  a  chair.  "  Why  Miss, 
what's  the  matter?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  mayn't  be  the  matter !" 
cried  Miggs,  clasping  her  hands  distractedly. 
"  Anything  may  be  the  mattei  ;" 

"But  nothing  is,  I  tell  you,"  said  the  hang- 
man. "First  stop  that  noise,  and  come  and  sit 
down  here,  will  you,  chuckey?" 

The  coaxing  tone  in  which  he  said  these  lat- 
ter words  might  have  failed  in  its  object,  if  he 
had  not  accompanied  them  with  sundry  sharp 
jerks  of  his  thumb  over  one  shoulder,  and  with 
divers  winks  and  tlirustings  of  his  tongue  into 
his  cheek,  from  which  signals  the  damsel  gath- 
ered that  he  sought  to  speak  to  her  apart,  con- 
cerning Miss  Haredale  and  Dolly.  Her  curios- 
ity being  very  powerful,  and  her  jealousy  by  no 
means  inactive,  she  arose,  and  with  a  great  deal 
of  shivering  and  starting  back,  and  much  mus- 
cular action  among  all  the  small  bones  in  her 
throat,  gradually  approached  him. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  hangman. 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  thrust  her 
rather  suddenly  and  prematurely  into  a  chair; 
and  designing  to  reassure  her  by  a  little  harm- 
less jocularity,  such  as  is  adapted  to  please  and 
fascinate  the  sex,  converted  his  right  forefinger 
into  an  ideal  bradawl  or  gimlet,  and  made  as 
though  he  would  screw  the  same  into  her  side — 
whereat  Miss  Miggs  shrieked  again,  and  disco-  ! 
vered  symptoms  of  faintness. 

"  Lovey,  my  dear,"  whispered  Dennis,  draw- 
ing his  chair  close  to  hers,  "when  was  your 
young  man  here  last,  eh?" 

"  My  young  man,  good  gentleman  !"  answer- 
ed Miggs  in  a  tone  of  exquisite  distress. 

"  Ah  !  Simmuns,  you  know — him  T'  said  Den- 
nis. 

"  Mine  indeed !"  cried  Miggs,  with  a  burst  of 
bitterness — and  as  she  said  it,  she  glanced  to- 
wards Dolly.     "  Mine,  good  gentleman  !" 

This  was  just  what  Mr.  Dennis  wanted  and 
expected, 

"  Ah  !"  he  said,  looking  so  soothingly,  not  to 
say  amorously,  on  Miggs,  that  she  sat,  as  she 
afterwards  remarked,  on  pins  and  needles  of  the 
sharppst  Whitechapel  kind  ;  not  knowing  what 
intentions  might  be  suggesting  that  expression 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


279 


to  his  features:  "I  was  afraid  of  that.  /  saw 
as  much,  myself.  It's  her  fault.  She  i/;j7Z  en- 
tice 'em." 

"I  wouldn't,"  cried  Rliggs,  folding  her  hands 
and  looking  upwards  with  a  kind  of  devout 
blankness,  "I  wouldn't  lay  myself  out  as  she 
does;  I  wouldn't  be  as  bold  as  her;  I  wouldn't 
t-oem  to  say  to  all  male  creeturs  'come  and  kiss 
me'" — and  here  a  shudder  quite  convulsed  her 
frame — "for  any  earthly  crowns  as  might  be  of- 
fi;reJ.  Worlds,"  JMiggs  added  solemnly,  "  should 
not  reduce  me.     IN'o.     Not  if  I  was  Wenis." 

"  Well  but  you  are  Wenus  you  know,"  said 
Mr.  Dennis,  contidontially. 

"No,  I  am  not,  good  gentleman,"  answered 
3IigL's,  shaking  her  head  with  an  air  of  self-de- 
nial which  seemed  to  imply  that  she  might  be 
if  she  chose,  but  she  hoped  she  knew  Ijetter. 
"  No  I  am  not,  good  gentleman.  Don't  charge 
me  with  it." 

Up  to  this  time,  she  had  turned  round  every 
now  and  then  to  where  Dolly  and  Miss  Hare- 
dale  had  retired,  and  uttered  a  scream,  or  groan, 
or  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart  and  trembled 
excessively,  with  a  view  of  keeping  up  appear- 
ances, and  giving  them  to  understand  that  she 
conversed  with  the  visiter,  under  protest  and  on 
compulsion,  and  at  a  great  personal  sacrifice, 
for  their  common  good.  But  at  this  point,  Mr. 
Dennis  looked  so  very  full  of  meaning,  and  gave 
such  a  singularly  expressive  twitch  to  his  face 
as  a  request  to  her  to  come  still  nearer  to  him, 
that  she  abandoned  these  little  arts  and  gave 
him  h(>r  whole  and  undivided  attention. 

"  ^^'hen  was  Simmuns  here,  I  say  1"  quoth 
Dennis,  in  her  ear. 

"Not  since  yesterday  morning;  and  then 
only  for  a  few  minutes.  Not  all  day,  the  day 
before." 

"  You  know  he  meant  all  along  to  carry  off 
that  one]"  said  Dennis,  indicating' Dolly  by  the 
slightest  possible  jerk  of  his  head:  —  "And  to 
hand  you  over  to  somebody  else." 

Miss  I\liggs,  who  had  fallen  into  a  terrible 
state  of  CTrief  when  the  first  part  of  this  sentence 
was  spoken,  recovered  a  little  at  the  second,  and 
seemed  by  the  sudden  check  she  put  upon  her 
tears,  to  intimate  that  jwssibly  this  arrangement 
might  meet  her  views;  and  that  it  might,  per- 
haps, remain  an  open  question. 

" —  But  unfort'nately,"  pursued  Dennis,  who 
observed  this:  "somebody  else  was  fond  of  her 
too,  yon  see ;  and  even  if  he  wasn't,  somebody 
else  is  took  for  a  rioter,  and  it's  all  over  with 
him." 

Miss  Miggs  relapsed. 

"  Now,  I  want,"  said  Dennis,  "  to  clear  this 
.ouse,  and  to  see  you  righted.  What  if  I  was 
to  get  her  off,  out  of  the  way,  eh  T" 

Miss  Miggs,  brightening  again,  rejoined,  with 
Jiany  breaks  and  pauses  from  excess  of  feeling, 
inat  temptations  had  been  Simmun's  bane.  That 
it  was  not  his  faults,  but  hers  (meaning  Dolly's.) 
That  men  did  not  see  through  these  dreadful 
arts  as  women  did,  and  therefore  was  caged  and 
trapped,  r.r  Simmun  had  been.  That  she  had  no 
personal  motives  to  serve— far  from  it — on  the 


contrary,  her  intentions  was  good  towards  all 
parties.  But  fijrasmuch  as  she  knovved  that 
Simmun,  if  united  to  any  designing  and  artful 
minxes  (she  would  name  no  names,  for  that  was 
not  her  dispositions) — to  any  designing  and  art- 
ful minxes  —  must  be  n)ade  miserable  and  un- 
happy for  life,  she  did  incline  towards  prevven- 
tions.  Such,  she  added,  was  her  free  confes- 
sions. But  as  this  was  private  feelings,  and 
might  perhaps  be  looked  upon  as  wengeance, 
she  begged  the  gentleman  would  say  no  more. 
Whatever  he  said,  wishing  to  do  her  duty  by 
all  mankind,  even  by  them  as  had  ever  been  her 
bitterest  enemies,  she  would  not  listen  to  him. 
With  that  she  stopped  her  ears,  and  shook  her 
hpad  from  side  to  side,  to  intimate  to  Mr.  Dennis 
that  though  he  talked  imtil  he  had  no  breath 
left,  she  was  as  deaf  as  any  adder. 

"  Lookee  here,  my  sugar-stick,"  said  Mr. 
Dennis;  "if  your  view's  the  same  as  mine,  and 
you  '11  only  be  quiet  and  slip  away  at  (he  right 
time,  I  can  have  the  house  clear  to-morrow,  and 
be  out  of  this  trouble.  —  Stop  though  !  there  's 
the  other." 

"  Which  other,  sir  1" asked  Miggs — still  with 
her  fingers  in  her  ears,  and  her  head  shaking 
obstinately. 

"  Why,  the  tallest  one,  yonder,"  said  Dennis, 
as  he  stroked  his  chin,  and  added,  in  an  under 
tone  to  himself,  something  about  not  crossing 
Muster  Gashford. 

Miss  Miggs  replied  (still  being  profoundly 
deaf,)  that  if  Miss  Haredale  stood  in  the  way  at 
all,  he  might  make  himself  quite  easy  on  thai 
score;  as  she  had  gathered,  from  what  pa.^sed 
between  Hugh  and  Mr.  Tappertit,  when  they 
were  last  there,  that  she  was  to  be  removed 
alone,  (not  by  them,  by  somebody  else,)  to-mor- 
row night. 

Mr.  Dennis  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  at  thrs 
piece  of  information,  whistled  once,  considered 
once,  and  finally  slapped  his  head  once  and  nod- 
ded once,  as  if  he  had  got  the  clue  to  this  mys 
terious  removal,  and  so  dismissed  it.  Then  he 
imparted  his  design  concerning  Dolly  to  Miss 
Miggs,  who  was  taken  more  deaf  than  before, 
when  he  began  ;  and  so  remained,  all  through. 

The  notable  scheme  was  this.  Mr.  Dennis 
was  immediately  to  seek  out  from  among  the 
rioters,  some  daring  young  fellow,  (and  he  had 
one  in  his  eye,  ho  said,)  who,  terrified  by  the 
threats  he  could  hold  out  to  him,  and  alarmed  bv 
the  capture  of  so  many  who  were  no  better  and 
no  worse  than  he,  would  gladly  avail  himself  of 
any  help  to  get  abroad,  and  out  of  harm's  wav, 
with  his  plunder,  even  though  his  journey  were 
incumbered  by  an  unwilling  companion:  indeed, 
the  unwilling  companion  being  a  beautiful  girl, 
would  probably  be  an  additional  inducement  and 
temptation.  Such  a  person  found,  he  proposed 
to  bring  him  there  on  the  ensuing  night,  when 
the  tall  one  was  taken  off,  and  Miss  Mi^gs  had 
purposely  retired  ;  and  then  that  Dolly  should  bo 
gagged,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  and  carried  in  any 
handy  conveyance  down  to  the  river's  side 
where  there  were  abundant  means  of  getting  hei 
smuggled  snugly  off  in  any  small  craft  of  doabU 


280 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


fill  cliaracter,  and  no  qncstions  asked.  With  re- 
gard to  the  expense  of  ttiis  removal,  he  would 
say,  at  a  rough  calculation,  that  two  or  three 
silver  tea  or  coffee-pots,  with  something  addi- 
tional for  drink,  (such  as  a  muffineer,  or  toast- 
rfick,)  would  more  than  cover  it.  Articles  of 
plate  of  every  kind  having  been  buried  by  the 
1  inters  in  several  lonely  parts  of  London,  and 
particularly,  as  he  knew,  in  St.  James's  Squire, 
which,  tiiough  easy  of  access,  was  little  fre- 
quented after  dark,  and  had  a  convenient  piece 
of  water  in  the  midst,  the  needful  funds  were 
close  at  hand,  and  could  be  had  upon  the  short- 
est notice.  With  regard  to  Dolly,  the  gentleman 
would  exercise  his  own  discretion.  He  would 
be  bound  to  do  nothing  but  take  her  away,  and 
keep  her  away;  all  other  arrangements  and  dis- 
positions would  rest  entirely  with  hiniself. 

If  Miss  Miggs  had  had  her  hearing,  no  doubt 
she  would  have  been  greatly  shocked  by  the  in- 
delicacy of  a  young  female's  going  away  witii  a 
stranger,  by  night,  (for  her  moral  feelings,  as 
we  have  said,  were  of  the  tenderest  kind)  ;  but 
directly  Mr.  Dennis  ceased  to  speak,  she  re- 
minded him  that  he  had  only  wasted  breath. 
She  then  went  on  to  say,  (still  with  her  fingers 
in  her  ears,)  that  nothing  less  than  a  severe 
practical    lesson  would    save    the   locksmith's 


daughter  from  utter  ruin  ;  and  that  she  felt  it,  as 
it  were,  a  moral  obligation  and  a  sacred  duty  to 
the  family,  to  wish  that  some  one  would  devise 
one  for  her  reformation.  Miss  Miggs  remarked, 
and  very  justly,  as  an  abstract  sentiment  which 
happened  to  occur  to  lier  at  the  moment,  that 
she  dared  to  say  the  locksmith  and  his  wife 
would  murmur,  and  repme,  if  they  were  ever, 
by  forcible  abduction,  or  otherwise,  to  lose  their 
child :  but  that  we  seldom  knew,  in  this  world, 
what  was  best  for  us;  such  being  our  sinful  and 
imperfect  natures,  that  very  few  arrived  at  that 
clear  understanding. 

Having  brought  their  conversation  to  this 
satisfactory  end,  they  parted  :  Dennis,  to  further 
his  design,  and  take  another  walk  about  his 
farm;  Miss  Miggs,  to  launch,  when  he  left  hor, 
into  such  a  burst  of  mental  anguish,  (which  she 
gave  them  to  understand  was  occasioned  by  cer 
tain  tender  things  he  had  had  the  presumption 
and  audacity  to  say,)  that  little  Dolly's  heart 
was  quite  melted.  Indeed,  she  said  and  did  so 
much  to  soothe  the  outraged  feelmgs  of  Mi.-'S 
Miggs,  and  looked  so  beautiful  whde  doing  so, 
that  if  that  young  maid  had  not  iiad  ample  vent 
for  her  surpassing  spite,  in  a  knovvle  Ige  of  t'le 
mischief  that  was  brewing,  she  must  havo 
scratched  her  features,  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-FIRST. 


Alt,  next  day,  Emma  Haredale,  Dolly,  and 
Miggs,  remained  cooped  up  together  in  what  had 
now  been  their  prison  for  so  many  days,  without 
seeing  any  person,  or  hearing  any  sound  but  the 
murmured  conversation,  in  an  outer  room,  of  the 
men  who  kept  watch  over  them.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  more  of  these  fellows  than  there 
had  been  hitherto ;  and  tlioy  could  no  longer 
hear  the  voices  of  women,  which  they  had  before 
plainly  distinguished.  Some  new  excitement, 
too,  seemed  to  prevail  among  them ;  for  there 
was  much  stealthy  going  in  and  out,  and  a  con- 
stant questioning  of  those  who  were  newly  ar- 
rived. They  had  previously  been  quite  reckless 
m  their  behaviour;  often  making  a  great  up- 
roar; quarrelling  among  themselves,  fighting, 
dancing,  and  singing.  They  were  now  very 
subdued  and  silent ;  conversing  almost  in  whis- 
pers, and  stealing  in  and  out  with  a  soft  and 
stealthy  tread,  very  different  from  the  boisterous 
trampling  in  which  their  arrivals  and  departures 
had  hitherto  been  announced  to  the  trembling 
captives. 

Wliether  this  change  was  occasioned  by  the 
presence  among  them  oi^some  person  of  authority 
in  their  ranks,  or  by  any  other  cause,  they  were 
unable  to  decide.  Sometimes  they  thought  it 
was  in  part  attributable  to  there  being  a  sick 
man  in  tiip  chamber,  for  last  night  there  had 
l»ccn  i-  sliutrling  of  feet,  a.s  though  a  burden  were 


brought  in,  and  aflerwaras  a  moaning  noipf^. 
But  they  had  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  truth  : 
for  any  question  or  entreaty  on  their  parts  only 
provoked  a  storm  of  brutal  execrations,  or  some- 
thing worse;  and  they  were  too  happy  to  be  let'l 
alone,  unassailed  by  threats  or  admiration,  if 
risk  even  that  comfort,  by  any  voluntary  com- 
munication with  those  who  held  them  in  du- 
rance. 

It  was  sufficiently  evident,  both  to  Emma  nnd 
to  the  locksmith's  poor  little  daughter  herself, 
that  she,  Dolly,  was  the  great  object  of  attrac- 
tion; and  that  so  soon  as  they  should  have  leisure 
to  indulge  in  the  softer  passion,  Hugh  and  Mr. 
Tappertit  would  certainly  fall  to  blows  for  h'-r 
sake  :  in  which  latter  case,  it  was  not  very  difii- 
cnlt  to  foresee  whose  prize  she  would  becom(\ 
With  all  her  old  horror  of  that  man  revived,  and 
deepened  into  a  degree  of  aversion  and  abhor- 
rence which  no  language  can  describe;  with  a 
tiiousand  old  recollections  and  regrets,  and  causes 
of  distress,  anxiety,  and  fear,  besotting  her  o\\ 
all  sides;  poor  Dolly  Varden — swot't,  bloomiiiL'', 
buxom  Dolly — began  to  hang  her  head,  and  fadi-, 
and  droop,  like  a  beautiful  liowcr.  The  r-ilour 
fled  from  her  cheeks,  her  courage  fnrPv">ck  her, 
her  gentle  heart  failed.  Unmindful  of  ail  her 
provoking  caprices,  forgett'ul  of  all  her  conquests 
and  inconstancy,  with  all  her  winning  l;»tie  vani- 
ties quite  gone,  she  nestled  all  the  livelong  dav 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


281 


in  Emma  Haredale's  bosom ;  and,  sometimes 
callinir  on  her  dear  old  jrrey-haired  father,  some- 
times on  her  mother,  and  sometimes  even  on  her 
Did  home,  pined  slowly  away,  like  a  jioor  bird  in 
its  caire. 

Liirht  hearts,  that  float  so  paily  on  a  smooth 
stream,  that  are  so  sparkling  and  buoyant  in  the 
?iinshine — down  upon  fruit,  bloom  upon  flowers, 
blush  in  summer  air,  life  of  tiie  winged  insect, 
whose  whole  existence  is  a  day  —  how  soon  ye 
sink  in  troubled  wafer!  Poor  Dolly's  heart— a 
little,  trentle,  idle,  tickle  thing;  giddy,  restless, 
lluttcrinir;  constant  to  nothing  but  bright  looks, 
and  smiles,  and  laughter  —  Dolly's  heart  was 
breaking. 

Emma  liad  known  grief,  and  could  bear  it 
better.  She  had  little  comfort  to  impart,  but  she  j 
could  soothe  and  tend  her,  and  she  did  so;  and 
Dolly  cluntr  to  her  like  a  child  to  its  nurse.  In 
endeavouring  to  inspire  her  with  some  fortitude, 
she  increased  her  own ;  and  though  the  nights 
were  lontr,  and  the  days  dismal,  and  she  felt  the 
wasting  influence  of  watching  and  fatigue,  and 
had  pnrhaps  a  more  defined  and  clear  perception 
of  their  destitute  condition,  and  its  worst  dan- 
gers, she  uttered  no  complaint.  Before  the  ruf- 
fians, in  whose  power  they  were,  she  bore  her- 
self so  calmly,  and  with  such  an  appearance,  in 
the  midst  of  all  her  terror,  of  a  secret  conviction 
that  they  dared  not  harm  her,  that  there  was 
not  a  man  among  them  but  held  her  in  some  de- 
gree of  dread;  and  more  than  one  believed  she 
had  a  weapon  hidden  in  her  dress,  and  was  pre- 
pared to  use  it. 

Such  was  their  condition  when  they  were 
joined  by  Miss  JNIiggs;  whogavethem  to  under- 
stand that  she  too  Jiad  been  taken  prisoner,  be- 
cause of  her  charms;  and  det-ailed  such  feats  of 
resistance  she  had  performed,  (her  virtue  having 
given  her  supernatural  strength,)  that  they  felt 
it  quite  a  happiness  to  have  her  for  a  champion. 
Nor  was  this  the  only  comfort  they  derived  at 
Irst  from  Mio-gs's  presence  and  society:  for  that 
ynunff  lady  displayed  such  resignation  and  long- 
sufferin?,  and  so  much  m.eek  endurance,  under 
her  trials;  and  breathed  in  all  her  chaste  dis- 
course, a  spirit  of  such  holy  confidence  and  re- 
signation, and  devout  belief  thatfcll  would  happen 
for  the  best ;  that  Emma  felt  her  courage  strength- 
ened by  the  brisjlit  example,  never  doubting  but 
that  everything  slie  said  was  true,  and  that  she, 
'ike  them,  wa.s  torn  from  all  she  loved,  and  ago- 
nized by  doubt  and  apprehension.  As  to  poor 
Dolly,  she  was  roused,  at  first,  by  seeing  one 
who  came  from  home ;  but  when  she  heard  under 
what  circumstances  she  had  left  it,  and  in  whose 
hands  her  father  liad  fallen,  she  wept  more  bit- 
terly than  ever,  and  refused  all  comfort. 

.^liss  Micgs  was  at  some  trouble  to  reprove 
her  for  this  state  of  mind,  and  to  entreat  her  to 
take  example  by  herself,  who,  she  said,  was  now 
receiving  back,  with  interest,  tenfold  the  amount 
of  iier  subscriptions  to  the  red-brick  dwelling- 
house,  in  the  articles  of  peace  of  mind  and  a 
quiet  conscience.  And,  while  on  serious  topics, 
Miss  Aiiggs  considered  it  her  duty  to  try  her 
hand  at  the  conversion  of  Miss  Haredale:  for 


whose  improvement  she  launcbt'd  into  a  polemi  ■ 
cal  address  of  some  length,  in  the  course  where- 
of, she  likened  herself  unto  a  chosen  missionary, 
and  that  young  lady  to  a  cannibal  in  darkness. 
Indeed  she  returned  so  often  to  these  subjects, 
and  so  frequently  called  upon  them  to  take  a 
lesson  from  her, — at  the  same  time  vaunting 
and,  as  it  were,  rioting  in,  her  huge  unworthi 
ness,  and  abundant  excess  of  sin, — that,  in  the 
course  of  a  short  time,  she  became,  in  that  small 
chamber,  rather  a  nuisance  than  a  comfort,  and 
rendered  them,  if  possible,  even  more  unhappy 
than  they  had  been  before. 

The  night  had  now  come;  and  for  the  first 
time  (for  their  jailers  had  been  regular  in  bring- 
ing food  and  candles),  they  were  left  in  dark- 
ness.  Any  change  in  their  condition  in  such  a 
place  inspired  new  fears;  and  when  some  hours 
had  passed,  and  the  gloom  was  still  unbroken, 
Emma  could  no  longer  repress  her  alarm. 

They  listened  attentively.  There  was  the 
same  murmuring  in  the  outer  room,  and  now 
and  then  a  moan  which  seemed  to  be  wrung 
from  a  person  in  great  pain,  who  made  an  eifort 
to  subdue  it,  but  could  not.  Even  these  men 
seemed  to  be  in  darkness  too;  for  no  light  shone 
through  the  chinks  in  the  door,  nor  were  they 
movino-,  as  their  custom  was,  but  quite  still :  the 
silence  being  unbroken  by  so  much  as  the  creak- 
ing of  a  board. 

At  first.  Miss  Miggs  wondered  greatly  in  her 
own  mind  who  this  sick  person  might  be;  but 
arriving,  on  second  thoughts,  at  the  conclusion 
that  he  was  a  part  of  the  schemes  on  foot,  and 
an  artful  device  soon  to  be  employed  with  great 
success,  she  opined,  for  Miss  Haredale's  comfort, 
that  it  must  be  some  misguided  Papist  who  had 
been  wounded :  and  this  happy  supposition  en- 
couraged her  to  say,  under  her  breath,  "Ally 
Loover !"  several  times. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Emma,  with  some  indig- 
nation, "  that  you  who  have  seen  these  men 
committing  the  outrages  you  have  told  us  of, 
and  who  have  fallen  into  their  hands,  like  us, 
can  exult  in  their  cruelties!" 

"Personal  considerations.  Miss,"  rejoined 
Migtrs,  "sinks  into  nothing,  afore  a  noble 
cause.  Ally  Looyer!  Ally  Looyer !  Ally 
Looyer,  good  gentlemen !" 

It  seemed  from  the  shrill  pertinacity  with 
which  Miss  Miggs  repented  this  form  of  accla- 
mation, that  she  was  calling  the  same  through 
the  keyhole  of  tiie  door;  but  in  the  profound 
darkness  she  could  not  be  seen. 

"  If  the  time  has  come — Heaven  knows  it 
may  come  at  any  moment — when  they  are  bent 
on  prosecuting  the  designs,  whatever  they  may 
be,  with  which  they  have  brought  us  here,  can 
you  still  encourage,  and  side  with  them  V  de- 
manded Emma. 

"I  thank  my  goodness-o-racious-blessed  stars 
I  can.  Miss,"  returned  Miggs,  with  increased 
energy.     "  Ally  Looyer,  good  gentlemen  !" 

Even  Dolly,  cast  down  and  disappointed  as 
she  was,  revived  at  this,  and  bade  Aiiggs  hold 
her  tongue  directly. 

"  Winch,  was  you  pleased   to  observe,  AIis» 


282 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


YanlcnV  said  Mig-£Ts,  with  a  strong  emphu'sis 
on  the  irrelative  pronoun. 

Dully  repeated  her  request. 

"  Ho,  gracious  nie  !"  cried  Miggs,  with  hys- 
terical derision.  "  Ho,  gracious  nie !  Yes,  to 
he  sure  I  will.  Ho  yes  !  I  am  a  abject  slave,  and 
a  toiling,  moiling,  constant-working,  always-be- 
ing-found-fault-with,  never-giving-satisfactions, 
nor-having-no-tinie-to-clean-oneself,  potter's  wes- 
Bel — an't  I,  Miss!  Ho  yes!  My  situations  is 
lowly,  and  my  capacities  is  limited,  and  my  du- 
ties is  to  humble  myself  afore  the  base  degene- 
rating daughters  of  their  blessed  mothers  as  is 
fit  to  keep  companies  with  holy  saints  but  is 
horn  to  persecutions  from  wicked  relations — and 
to  demean  myself  before  them  as  is  no  better 
than  Infidels  — an't  it.  Miss!  Ho  yes!  My 
only  becoming  occupations  is  to  help  young 
flaunting  pagins  to  brush  and  comb  and  titiwate 
themselves  into  whitening  and  suppulchres,  and 
leave  the  young  men  to  think  that  there  an't  a 
hit  of  padding  in  it  nor  no  pinchings  ins  nor  fil- 
Jinifs  out  nor  pomatums  nor  deceits  nor  earthly 
wannities—  an't  it,  Miss !  Yes,  to  be  sure  it  is 
— ho  yes !" 

Having  delivered  these  ironical  passages  with 
a  most  wondeiful  volubility,  and  with  asiirillness 
perfectly  deafening  (especially  when  she  jerked 
out  the  interjections),  Miss  Miggs,  from  mere 
habit,  and  not  because  weeping  was  at  all  ap- 
propriate to  the  occasion,  which  was  one  of  tri- 
umph, concluded  by  bursting  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  calling  in  an  impassioned  manner  on 
the  name  of  Simmuns. 

What  Emma  Haredale  and  Dolly  would  have 
(lone,  or  how  long  Miss  Miggs,  now  that  she 
had  hoisted  her  true  colours,  would  have  gone 
on  waving  them  before  their  astonished  senses, 
it  is  impossible  to  tell.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to 
speculate  on  these  matters,  for  a  startling  inter- 
ruption occurred  at  that  moment,  which  took 
their  whole  attention  by  storm. 

This  was  a  violent  knocking  at  the  door  of 
the  house,  and  then  its  sudden  bursting  open ; 
which  was  immediately  succeeded  by  a  scutHe 
in  the  room  without,  and  the  clash  of  weapons. 
Transported  with  the  hope  tliat  rescue  had  at 
length  arrived,  Emma  and  Dolly  shrieked  aloud 
for  help;  nor  were  their  shrieks  unanswered; 
for  after  a  hurried  interval,  a  man,  bearing  in 
one  hand  a  drawn  sword,  and  in  the  other  a  ta- 
per, rushed  into  the  chamber  where  they  were 
confined. 

It  was  some  check  upon  their  transport  to  find 
in  this  person  an  entire  stranger,  but  they  ap- 
pealed to  him,  nevertheless,  and  besought  him, 
in  impassioned  language,  to  restore  them  to 
their  friends. 

"  For  what  other  purpose  am  I  here?"  he  an- 
swered, closing  the  door,  and  standin'''  with  his 
back  against  it.  "With  what  object  have  I 
made  my  way  to  this  place,  through  difficulty 
and  danger,  but  to  preserve  youV 

With  a  joy  for  which  it  was  impossible  to 
find  adequate  expression,  they  embraced  each 
other,  and  thanked  Heaven  for  this  most  timely 
hill.     Their  deliverer  stepped  forward  for  a  mo- 


ment to  put  the  light  upon  the  table,  and  imme- 
diately returning  to  his  former  position  against 
the  door,  bared  his  head,  and  looked  on  smilingly. 

"You  have  news  of  my  uncle.  Sir!"  said 
Emma,  turning  hastily  towards  him. 

"And  of  my  father  and  mother!"  added 
Dolly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "Good  news." 

"They  are  alive  and  unhurt!"  tlisy  both 
cried  at  once. 

"  Yes,  and  unhurt,"  he  rejoined. 

"And  close  at  handl" 

"I  did  not  say  close  at  hand,"  he  answered 
smoothly  ;  "  they  are  at  no  great  distance.  Your 
fr?inds,  sweet  one,"  he  added,  addres.-inor  Dolly, 
"are  within  a  few  hours'  journey.  You  will  be 
restored  to  them,  I  hope,  to-night." 

"My  uncle.  Sir — "  faltered  Emma. 

"Your  uncle,  dear  Miss  Haredale,  happily — 
I  say  happily,  because  he  has  succeeded  where 
many  of  our  creed  have  failed,  and  is  safe — has 
crossed  the  sea,  and  is  out  of  Britain." 

"  I  thank  God  for  it,"  said  Emma,  faintly. 

"  Y'ou  say  well.  You  have  reason  to  be  thank- 
ful :  greater  reason  than  it  is  possible  for  you, 
who  have  seen  but  one  night  of  these  cru.I 
outrages,  to  imagine." 

"  Does  he  desire,"  asked  Emma,  "  that  I 
should  follow  him!" 

"  Do  you  ask  if  he  desires  it !"  cried  the  stran- 
ger in  surprise.  "  If  he  desires  it !  But  you  do 
not  know  the  danger  of  remaining  in  England, 
the  difficulty  of  escape,  or  the  price  hundreds 
would  pay  to  secure  the  means,  when  you  make 
that  inquiry.  Pardon  me.  I  had  fo"gotten  that 
you  could  not,  being  prisoner  here." 

"I  gather.  Sir,"  said  Emma,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "from  what  you  hint  at,  but  fear  to  tell 
me,  that  I  have  witnessed  hut  the  beginning, 
and  the  least,  of  the  violence  to  which  we  are 
exposed ;  and  that  it  has  not  yet  slackened  in 
its  fury !" 

lie  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head, 
lifted  up  his  hands;  and  with  the  same  smooth 
smile,  which  was  not  a  pleasant  one  to  see,  cast 
his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and  remained  silent. 

"  You  may  venture,  Sir,  to  speak  plain,"  said 
Emma,  "  and  |p  tell  me  the  worst.  We  have 
undergone  some  preparation  for  it  already." 

But  here  Dolly  interposed,  and  entreated  her 
not  to  hear  the  worst,  but  the  best;  and  besought 
the  gentleman  to  tell  tliem  the  best,  and  to  ke.  p 
the  remainder  of  his  news  until  they  w;  re  siifo 
among  their  friends  again. 

"It  is  told  in  three  words,"  he  said,  glancing 
at  the  locksmith's  daughter  with  a  look  of  some 
displeasure.  "The  people  have  risen,  to  a  man, 
against  us;  the  streets  are  filled  with  soldiers, 
who  support  them  and  do  their  bidding.  We 
have  no  protection  but  from  above,  and  no  safety 
but  in  flight;  and  that  is  a  poor  resource;  for 
we  are  watched  on  every  hand,  and  detained 
here,  both  by  force  and.  fraud.  Miss  Haredale, 
I  cannot  bear — believe  me,  that  I  cannot  hear — 
by  speaking  of  myself,  or  what  I  have  done,  or 
am  prepared  to  do,  to  seem  to  vaunt  my  services 
before  you.      But,  having  powerful  Protestant 


BARNABY    RUDGE, 


263 


connexions,  and  having;  my  whole  wcaltii  em- 
barked with  theirs  in  shippintj  and  commerce,  I 
happily  possessed  the  means  of  saving  your 
uncle.  I  have  the  means  of  saving  you ;  and 
in  redemption  of  my  sacred  promise,  made  to 
liim,  I  am  iiere;  pledged  not  to  leave  you  until 
I  have  placed  you  in  his  arms.  The  treachery 
or  penitence  of  one  of  the  men  about  you,  led  to 
the  discovery  of  your  place  of  confinement;  and 
that  I  have  forced  my  way  here,  sword  in  hand, 
you  pee." 

"You  bring,"  said  Emma,  faltering,  "some 
note  or  token  from  my  uncle  1" 

"  No,  he  dnosn't,"  cried  Dolly,  pointing  at  him 
earnestly  :  "  now  I  am  sure  he  doesn't.  Don't 
go  with  iiim  for  the  world!" 

"Hush,  pretty  fool — be  silent,"  he  replied, 
frowning  angrily  upon  her.  "No,  Miss  Hare- 
dale,  I  have  no  letter,  nor  any  token  of  any  kind  ; 
for  while  I  sympathise  with  you,  and  such  as  you, 
on  whom  misfortune  so  heavy  and  so  undeserved 
has  fallen,  I  value  my  life.  I  carry,  therefore, 
no  writing  wliich,  found  upon  me,  would  lead  to 
its  certain  loss.  I  never  thought  of  bringing 
any  other  token,  nor  did  iMr.  Haredale  think  of 
entrusting  me  with  one  ;  possibly  because  he  had 
.  good  experience  of  my  faith  and  honesty,  and 
owed  his  life  to  me." 

There  was  a  reproof  conveyed  in  these  words, 
which,  to  a  nature  like  Emma  Haredale's,  was 
well  addressed.  But  Dolly,  who  was  differently 
constituted,  was  by  no  means  touched  by  it ; 
and  still  conjured  her,  in  all  the  terms  of  affec- 
tion and  attachment  she  could  think  of,  not  to 
be  lured  away. 

"  Time  presses,"  said  their  visiter,  who,  al- 
though he  sought  to  express  the  deepest  interest, 
had  something  cold  and  even  in  his  speech,  that 
grated  on  the  ear;  "and  danger  surrounds  us. 
If  I  have  exposed  myself  to  it,  in  vain,  let  it  be 
so;  but  if  you  and  he  should  ever  meet  again, 
do  me  justice.  If  you  decide  to  remain  (as  I 
think  you  do,)  remember.  Miss  Haredale,  that 
I  left  you,  with  a  solemn  caution,  and  acquitting 
myself  of  all  the  consequences  to  which  you 
expose  yourself." 

"  Stay,  sir  I"  cried  Emma — "  one  moment,  I 
beg  you.  Cannot  we" — and  she  drew  Dolly 
closer  to  her — "cannot  we  go  together]" 

"  The  task  of  conveying  one  female  in  safety 
through  such  scenes  as  we  must  encounter,  to 
Bay  nothing  of  attracting  the  attention  of  those 
who  crowd  the  streets,"  he  answered,  "  is 
enough.  I  have  said  that  she  will  be  restored 
to  her  friends  to-night.  If  you  accept  the  ser- 
vice I  tender.  Miss  Haredale,  she  shall  be  in- 
stantly placed  in  safe-conduct,  and  that  promise 
redeemed.  Do  you  decide  to  remain]  People 
of  all  ranks  and  creeds  are  flying  from  the  town, 
which  is  sacked  from  end  to  end.  Let  me  be 
of  use  in  some  quarter.     Do  you  stay,  or  go  ]" 

"Dolly,"  said  Emma,  in  a  hurried  manner, 
"  my  dear  girl,  this  is  our  last  hope.  If  we  part 
now,  it  is  only  that  we  may  meet  again  in  happ' 
ness  and  honour.    I  will  trust  to  this  gentleman. 

"No — no — no — !"  cried  Dolly,  clinging  to 
her     "  Pray,  pray,  do  not !" 


"  You  hear,"  said  Emma, "  that  to-night — only 
to-night — within  a  few  hours — oil,  tliink  of  that  ! 
you  will  be  among  those  wiio  would  die  of  grief 
to  lose  you,  and  are  now  plunged  in  the  deepest 
misery  for  your  sake.  Pray  lor  me,  dear  girl, 
as  I  will  for  you;  and  never  forget  Jhe  many 
(juiet  hours  we  have  passed  together.  Say  one 
'  God  bless  you  !'     Say  that  at  parting,  sister  !" 

But  Dolly  could  say  nothing;  no,  not  when 
Emma  kissed  her  cheek  a  hundred  times,  and 
covered  it  with  tears,  could  she  do  more  than 
hang  upon  her  neck,  and  sob,  and  clasp,  and  hold 
her  tight. 

"  VVe  have  time  for  no  more  of  this,"  cried 
the  man,  unclenching  her  hands,  and  throwing 
her  roughly  off",  as  he  drew  Emma  Haredale 
towards  the  door:  "Now!  Quick,  outside 
there !  are  you  ready  ]" 

"  Ay  !"  cried  a  loud  voice,  which  made  him 
start.  "  Quite  ready  !  Stand  back  here,  for  your 
lives!" 

And  in  an  instant  he  was  felled  like  an  ox  in 
the  butcher's  shambles — struck  down  as  thougii 
a  block  of  marble  had  fallen  from  the  roof  and 
crushed  him — and  cheerful  light,  and  beaming 
faces  came  pouring  in — and  Emma  was  clasped 
in  her  uncle's  embrace;  and  Dolly,  with  a 
shriek  that  pierced  the  air,  fell  into  the  arms  of 
her  father  and  mother. 

What  fainting  there  was,  what  laughing 
what  crying,  what  sobbing,  what  smiling;  how 
much  questioning,  no  answering,  all  talking 
together,  all  beside  themselves  with  jcy  ,  what 
kissing,  congratulating,  embracing,  shaking  of 
hands  ;  and  falling  into  all  these  raptures,  ovei 
and  over  again  ;  no  language  can  describe. 

At  length,  and  after  a  long  time,  the  old  lock, 
smith  went  up  and  fairly  hugged  two  strangers, 
who  had  stood  apart  and  left  them  to  them- 
selves; and  then  they  saw  —  whoml  Yes, 
Edward  Chester  and  Joseph  Willet. 

"See  here!"  cried  the  loclcsmith.  "Set, 
here!  where  would  any  of  us  have  been  with- 
out these  two  ]  Oh,  Mr.  Edward,  Mr.  Edward 
— oh,  Joe,  Jo';,  how  light,  and  yet  how  full,  you 
have  made  n.y  old  heart  to-night!" 

"  It  was  Mr.  Edward  that  knocked  him  down, 
sir,"  said  Joe :  "  I  longed  to  do  it,  but  I  gave 
it  up  to  him.  Come,  you  brave  and  honest  gen- 
tleman !  Get  your  senses  together,  for  you 
haven't  long  to  lie  here." 

He  had  his  foot  upon  the  breast  of  their  shain 
deliverer,  in  the  absence  of  a  spare  arm  ;  and 
gave  him  a  gentle  roll  as  he  spoke.  Gashford, 
for  it  was  no  other,  crouching  yet  malignanl, 
raised  his  scowling  face,  like  sin  subdued,  and 
pleaded  to  be  gently  used. 

"I  have  access  to  all  my  lord's  papers,  Mr. 
Haredale,"  he  said,  in  a  subdued  voice  :  Mr 
Haredale  keeping  his  back  towards  him,  and 
not  once  looking  round:  "there  are  very  im 
portant  documents  among  them.  There  are  a 
great  many  in  secret  drawers,  and  distributed  i;i 
various  places,  known  only  to  my  lord  and  me. 
I  can  give  some  valuable  information,  and  ren- 
der important  assistance  to  any  inquiry.     V  du 


284 


BARNABY     RUDGE. 


will    \vAVc   to   answer  for  it,  if  I  receive  ill- 

"Pah!"  cried  Joe,  in  deep  disrrnst.  "Get 
lip,  man;  you're  waited  for,  outside.  Get  up, 
do  yon  hear?" 

Gasliford  slowly  rose;  and  pickintr  up  his 
hat,  and  lookinor  with  a  baffled  malevolence, 
yet  with  an  air  of  despicable  humility,  all  round 
ilie  room,  crawled  out. 

"  And  now,  gfentlemen,"  said  Joe,  who  seem- 
ed to  be  the  spokesman  of  the  party,  for  all  the 
rest  were  silent;  "the  sooner  we  oret  back  to 
the  Black  Lion,  the  better,  perhaps." 

Mr.  Haredale  nodded  assent;  and  drawing 
his  niece's  arm  throno;h  his,  and  takinor  one  of 
her  hands  between  his  own,  passed  out  straio;ht- 
way  ;  followed  by  the  locksmith,  Mrs.  Varden, 
and  Dolly — who  would  scarcely  have  presented 
a  sufficient  surface  for  all  the  hugs  and  caresses 
they  bestowed  upon  her  though  she  had  been  a 
dozen  Dollys.  Edward  Chester  and  Joe  fol- 
lowed. 

And  did  Dolly  never  once  look  behind — not 
once?  \Vas  there  not  one  little  fleeting  glimpse 
of  the  dark  eyelash,  almost  resting  on  her  flush- 
ed cheek,  and  of  the  downcast  sparkling  eye  it 
shaded  ]   Joe  thoucrht  there  was — and  he  is  not 


likely  to  have  been  mistaken  ;  for  there  wert 
not  many  eyes  like  Dolly's,  that's  the  truth. 

The  outer  room,  through  which  they  had  to 
pass,  was  full  of  men  ;  among  them,  Mr.  Den- 
nis in  safe  keeping ;  and  there,  had  been  since 
yesterday,  lying  in  hiding  behind  a  wooden 
screen  which  was  now  thrown  down,  Simon 
Tapperlit,  the  recreant 'Prentice ;  burnt  and 
bruised,  and  with  a  gun-shot  wound  in  his 
body;  and  his  legs — his  perfect  legs,  the  pride 
and  glory  of  his  life,  the  comfort  of  his  whole 
existence  —  crushed  into  shapeless  uirliness. 
Wondering  no  longer  at  the  moans  they  had 
heard,  Dolly  crept  closer  to  her  father,  and 
shuddered  at  the  sight:  but  neither  bruises, 
burns,  nor  gun-shot  wound,  nor  all  the  torture 
of  his  shattered  limbs,  sent  half  so  keen  a  pang 
to  Simon's  breast,  as  Dolly  passing  out,  with 
Joe  for  her  preserver. 

A  coach  was  ready  at  the  door,  and  Dolly 
found  herself  safe  and  whole  inside,  between 
her  father  and  mother;  with  Emma  Haredale 
and  her  uncle,  quite  real,  sitting  opposite.  But 
there  was  no  Joe,  no  Edward;  and  they  had 
said  nothing.  'I'Hiey  had  only  bowed  once,  and 
kept  at  a  distance.  Dear  heart!  what  along 
way  it  was,  to  the  Black  Lion. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-SECOND. 


The  Black  Lion  was  so  far  off,  and  occupied 
such  a  length  of  time  in  the  getting  at,  that 
notwithstanding  the  strong  presumptive  evi- 
dence she  had  about  her  of  the  late  events  being 
real  and  of  actual  occurrence,  Dolly  could  not 
divesl  herself  of  the  belief  that  she  must  be  in 
a  dream  which  was  lasting  all  night.  Nor 
was  sl'.e  quite  certain  that  she  saw  and  heard 
with  her  own  proper  senses,  even  when  the 
coach,  in  the  fulness  of  time,  stopped  at  the 
Black  Lion,  and  the  host  of  that  tavern  ap- 
proached in  a  gush  of  cheerful  light  to  help 
them  to  dismount,  and  give  them  hearty  wel- 
come. 

There  too,  at  the  coach  door,  one  on  one  side, 
one  upon  the  other,  were  already  Edward  Ches- 
ter and  Joe  Willet,  who  must  have  followed  in 
another  coach  :  and  this  was  such  a  strange 
and  unaccountable  proceeding,  that  Dolly  was 
tlie  more  inclined  to  favour  the  idea  of  her  being 
last  asleep.  But  when  Mr.  Willet  appeared — 
old  John  himself — so  heavy-headed  and  obsti- 
nate, and  with  such  a  double  chin  as  the  live- 
.lest  imagination  could  never  in  its  boldest 
flights  have  conjured  up  in  all  its  vast  propor- 
tions— then  she  stood  corrected,  and  unwiHino;ly 
"dmitted  to  herself  that  she  was  broad  awake. 


And  Joe  had  lost  an  arm  — he  —  that  well- 
made,  handsome,  gallant  fellow  !  As  Dolly 
glanced  towards  him,  and  thought  of  ihe  pain 
he  must  have  suffered,  and  the  f.ir-off  places  in 
which  he  had  been  wandering;  and  wondered 
who  had  been  his  nurse,  and  hoped  that  who- 
ever it  was,  she  had  been  as  kind  and  gentle 
and  considerate  as  she  would  have  been ;  the 
tears  came  rising  to  her  bright  eyes,  one  by  one, 
little  by  little,  until  she  coiud  keep  them  back 
no  longer,  and  so,  before  them  all,  wept  bitterly. 

"  We  are  all  safe  now,  Dolly,"  said  her  fa- 
ther, kindly.  "  We  shall  not  be  separated  any 
more.     Cheer  up,  my  love,  cheer  up  !" 

The  locksmith's  wife  knew  better,  perhaps, 
than  he,  what  ailed  her  dauohter.  But  Mrs. 
Varden  being  quite  an  altered  woman — for  the 
riots  had  done  that  good — added  her  word  to 
his,  and  comforted  her  with  similar  representa- 
tions. 

"  Mayhap,"  said  ]\Ir.  Willet  senior,  looking 
round  upon  the  company,  "she's  hungry. 
That's  what  it  is,  depend  upon  it — I  am,  my 
self." 

The  Black  Lion,  who,  like  old  John,  had 
been  waiting  supper  p«st  all  reasonable  and 
conscionable  hours,  hailed  this  as  a  philosophi- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


285 


eal  discovery  of  the  profoiindest  and  most  pen- 
etrating kind ;  and  the  table  being-  already 
spread,  they  sat  down  to  supper  stniigbtway. 

The  conversation  was  not  of  the  liveliest 
nature,  nor  were  the  appetites  of  some  among 
them  very  keen.  But  in  both  these  respects, 
old  John  more  than  atoned  for  any  deficiency 
on  the  part  of  the  rest,  and  very  much  distin- 
guished himself. 

It  was  not  in  point  of  actual  talkativeness 
that  Mr.  Willet  shone  so  brilliantly,  for  he  had 
none  of  his  old  cronies  to  "tackle,"  and  was 
rather  timorous  of  venturing  on  .Foe;  having 
certain  vague  missi'vinos  within  him,  that  he 
was  ready  on  the  shortest  notice,  and  on  receipt 
of  the  slightest  oftence,  to  fell  the  Black  Lion 
to  the  floor  of  his  own  parlour,  and  immediate- 
ly withdraw  to  China  or  some  other  remote  and 
unknown  region,  there  to  dwell  for  evermore  ; 
or  at  least  till  he  had  got  rid  of  his  remaining 
arm  and  both  legs,  and  perhaps  an  eye  or  so, 
into  the  bargain.  It  was  with  a  peculiar  kind 
of  pantomime  that  Mr.  Willet  filled  up  every 
pause  ;  and  in  this  he  was  considered  by  the 
Black  Lion,  who  had  been  his  familiar  for  some 
years,  quite  to  surpass  and  go  beyond  himself, 
and  outrun  the  expectations  of  his  most  admir- 
ing friends. 

The  subject  that  worked  in  Mr.  Willet's 
mind,  and  occasioned  these  demonstrations, 
was  no  other  than  his  son's  bodily  disfigure- 
ment, which  he  had  never  yet  got  himself 
thoroughly  to  believe,  or  comprehend.  Shortly 
after  their  first  meeting,  he  had  been  observed 
to  wander,  in  a  state  of  great  perplexity,  to  the 
kitchen,  and  to  direct  his  gaze  towards  the  fire, 
as  if  in  search  of  his  usual  adviser  in  all  mat- 
ters of  doubt  and  difficulty.  But  there  being 
no  boiler  at  the  Black  Lion,  and  the  rioters 
having  so  beaten  and  battered  his  own  that  it 
was  quite  unfit  for  further  service,  he  wandered 
out  again,  in  a  perfect  bog  of  uncertainty  and 
mental  confusion;  and  in  that  state  took  the 
strangest  means  of  resolving  his  doubts:  such 
as  feeling  the  sleeve  of  his  son's  great-coat,  as 
deeming  it  possible  that  his  arm  might  be 
there;  looking  at  his  own  arms  and  those  of 
everybody  else,  as  if  to  assure  himself  that 
two  and  not  one  was  the  usual  allowance  ;  sit- 
ting by  the  hour  too-pther  in  a  brown  study,  as 
if  he  were  endeavouring  to  recal  Joe's  image  in 
his  younger  days,  and  to  remember  whether  he 
really  had  in  those  times  one  arm  or  a  pair; 
and  employing  himself  in  many  other  specula- 
tions of  the  same  kind. 

Finding  himself,  at  this  supper,  surrounded 
by  faces  with  which  he  had  been  so  well  ac- 
quainted in  old  times,  Mr.  Willet  recurred  to 
the  subject  with  uncommon  vigour  ;  apparently 
resolved  to  understand  it  now  or  never.  Some- 
times, after  two  or  three  mouthfuls,  he  laid 
down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  stared  at  his  son 
with  all  his  might — particularly  at  his  maimed 
side ;  then  he  looked  slowly  round  the  table 
until  he  caught  some   person's  eye,  when  he 


shook  his  head  with  great  solemnity,  patted  his 
shoulder,  winked,  or  as  one  iiuiy  say — for  wink- 
ing was  a  very  slow  process  with  him  —  went 
to  sleep  with  one  eye  for  a  mitmte  or  two  ;  and 
so,  with  another  solemn  shaking  of  his  head, 
took  up  his  knife  and  fork  again,  and  went  on 
eating.  Sometimes  he  put  his  food  into  hi3 
mouth  abstractedly,  and,  with  all  his  faculties 
concentrated  on  Joe,  gazed  at  him  in  a  fit  of 
stupefaction  as  he  cut  his  meat  with  one  hand, 
until  he  was  recalled  to  himself  by  symptoms 
of  choking  on  his  own  part,  and  was  by  that 
means  restored  to  consciousness.  At  other 
times  he  resorted  to  such  small  devices  as  ask- 
ing him  for  the  salt,  the  pepjjcr,  the  vinegar, 
the  mustard — anything  that  was  on  his  maimed 
side — and  watching  him  as  he  handed  it.  By 
dint  of  these  experiments,  he  did  at  last  so 
satisfy  and  convince  himself,  that,  after  a  lon- 
ger silence  than  he  had  yet  maintained,  he  laid 
down  his  knife  and  fork  on  either  side  his  plate, 
drank  a  long  draught  from  a  tankard  beside 
him,  still  keeping  his  eyes  on  Joe,  and,  leaning 
backward  in  his  chair  and  fetching  a  long 
breath,  said,  a;^  he  looked  all  round  the  board: 

"  It's  been  took  off!" 

"By  George!"  said  the  Black  Lion,  striking 
the  table  with  his  hand,  "  he  's  got  it !" 

"Yes  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  with  the  look 
of  a  man  who  felt  that  he  had  earned  a  compli- 
ment, and  deserved  it.  "'J'hat's  where  it  is. 
It 's  been  took  off." 

"Tell  him  where  it  was  done,"  said  the 
Black  Lion  to  Joe. 

"At  the  defence  of  the  Savannah,  father." 

"At  the  defence  of  the  Sal  wanner,"  repeated 
Mr.  Willet,  softly;  again  looking  round  the 
table. 

"In  America,  where  the  war  is,"  said  Joe. 

"  In  America  where  the  war  is,"  repeated 
Mr.  Willet.  "  It  was  took  oft'  in  the  defence 
of  the  Salwanners  in  America  where  the  war 
is."  Continuing  to  repeat  these  words  to  him- 
self in  a  low  tone  of  voice  (the  same  informa- 
tion had  been  conveyed  to  him  in  the  same 
terms,  at  least  fifty  times  before),  Mr.  Willet 
arose  from  table;  walked  round  to  Joe;  felt  his 
empty  sleeve  all  the  way  up,  from  the  cull",  to 
where  the  stump  of  his  arm  remained;  shook 
his  head  ;  lighted  his  pipe  at  the  fire,  took  a 
long  whiff,  walked  to  the  door;  turned  round 
once  when  he  had  reached  it,  wiped  his  left 
eye  with  the  back  of  his  forefinger,  and  said, 
in  a  faltering  voice  ;  "  My  son's  arm — was  took 
off — at  the  defence  of  the  —  Salwaimers  —  in 
America — where  the  war  is"  —  with  which 
words  he  withdrew,  and  returned  no  more  that 
night. 

Indeed,  on  various  pretences,  they  all  with- 
drew one  after  another,  save  Dolly,  who  was 
left  sitting  there  alone.  It  was  a  great  relief 
to  be  alone,  and  she  was  crying  to  her  heart's 
content,  when  she  heard  Joe's  voice  at  the  end 
of  the  passage,  bidding  somebody  good  night. 

Good  night!     Then  he  was  going  elsewhere 


286 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


— to  some  distance,  perhaps.  To  what  kind  of 
home  cuuid  he  be  going,  now  that  it  was  so 
late ! 

She  heard  him  walk  along  the  passage,  and 
pass  the  door.  But  there  was  a  hesitaiion  in 
his  footsteps.  He  turned  back — Dolly's  heart 
beat  high — he  looked  in. 

"Good  night!" — he  didn't  say  Dolly,  hut 
there  was  comfort  in  his  not  saying  Miss  Var- 
den. 

"Good  night!"  sohbed  Dolly. 

"  1  am  sorry  yon  take  on  so  much,  for  w  hat 
is  past  and  gone,"  said  Joe  kindly.  "Don't. 
I  can't  bear  to  see  you  do  it.  Think  of  it  no 
longer.     You  are  safe  and  happy  now." 

Dolly  cried  the  more. 

"You  must  have  suffered  very  much  within 
these  few  days  —  and  yet  you're  not  changed, 
unless  it 's  for  the  better.  They  said  you  were, 
but  I  don't  see  it.  You  were — you  were  al- 
ways very  beautiful,"  said  Joe,  "  but  you  are 
more  beautiful  than  ever,  now.  You  are  indeed. 
'I'here  can  be  no  harm  in  my  saying  so,  for  you 
must  know  it.  You  are  told  so  very  often,  1 
am  sure." 

As  a  general  principle,  Dolly  did  know  it, 
and  was  told  so,  very  often.  But  the  coach- 
maker  had  turned  out,  years  ago,  to  be  a  spe- 
cial donkey ;  and  whether  she  had  been  afraid 
of  making  similar  discoveries  in  others,  or  had 
grown  by  dint  of  long  custom  to  be  careless  of 
compliments  generally,  certain  it  is  that  al- 
thougli  she  cried  so  much,  she  was  better 
pleased  to  be  told  so  now,  than  ever  she  had 
been  in  all  iier  life. 

"I  shall  bless  your  name,"  sobbed  the  lock- 
smith's little  daughter,  "as  long  as  I  live.  I 
shall  never  hear  it  spoken  without  feeling  as  if 
my  heart  would  hurst.  I  shall  remember  it  in 
my  prayers  every  night  and  morning  till  I  die!" 

"  Will  you  V  said  Joe,  eagerly.  "  Will  you 
indeed  ?  It  makes  me — well,  it  makes  me  very 
glad  and  proud  to  hear  you  say  so." 

Dolly  still  sobbed,  and  held  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.     Joe  still  stood,  looking  at  her. 

"Your  voice,"  s.- id  Joe,  "brings  up  old 
times  so  pleasantly,  thjt  for  the  moment,  I  feel 


as  if  that  night — there  can  be  no  harm  in  talk- 
ing of  that  night  now — had  come  back,  and 
nothing  had  happened  in  tlie  mean  time.  I 
feel  as  if  1  hadn't  suffered  any  hardships,  but 
had  knocked  down  poor  Tom  Cobb  only  yes- 
terday, and  had  come  lo  see  you  with  my  bun- 
dle on  my  shoulder  before  running  away. — You 
remember"?" 

Remember!  But  she  said  notiiing.  She 
raised  her  eyes  for  an  instant.  It  was  but  a 
glance;  a  little,  tearful,  timid  glance.  It  kept 
Joe  silent  though,  for  a  long  time. 

"  Well !"  he  said  stoutly,  "  it  was  to  be 
otherwise,  and  was.  I  have  been  abroad,  fight- 
ing all  the  summer  and  frozen  up  all  llie  winter, 
ever  since.  I  have  come  back  as  poor  in  purse 
as  I  went,  and  crippled  for  life  besides.  But, 
Dolly,  I  would  rather  have  lost  this  other  arm — 
ay,  I  would  rather  have  lost  my  head — than 
have  come  back  to  find  you  dead,  or  anything 
but  what  I  always  pictured  you  to  myself,  and 
what  I  always  hoped  and  wished  to  find  you. 
Thank  God  for  all !" 

Oh  how  much,  and  how  keenly,  the  little 
coquette  of  five  years  ago,  felt  now  !  She  had 
found  her  heart  at  last.  Never  having  known 
its  worth  till  now,  she  had  never  known  the 
worth  of  his.     How  priceless  it  appeared  ! 

"  I  did  hope  once,"  said  Joe,  in  his  homely 
way,  "  that  1  might  come  back  a  rich  man,  and 
marry  you.  But  I  was  a  boy  then,  and  have 
long  known  better  than  that.  I  am  a  poor, 
maimed,  discharged  soldier,  and  must  be  con- 
tent to  rub  through  life  as  I  can.  I  can't  say, 
even  now,  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  mar- 
ried, Dolly;  but  I  am  glad — yes,  I  am,  and 
glad  to  think  I  can  say  so — to  know  that  you 
are  admired  and  courted,  and  can  pick  and 
choose  for  a  happy  life.  It 's  a  comfort  to 
me  to  know  that  you  '11  talk  to  your  husband 
about  me;  and  I  hope  the  time  will  come  when 
I  may  be  able  to  like  him,  and  to  shake  hands 
with  him,  and  to  come  and  see  you  as  a  poor 
friend  who  knew  you  when  you  were  a  girl. 
God  bless  you !" 

His  hand  did  tremble ;  but  for  all  that,  he 
took  it  away  again,  and  left  her. 


BARNABY    RUDGE 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-THIRD. 


Bv  Uiis  Friday  nifrlit — for  it  was  on  Friday  in 
the  riot  week,  tiiat  Emma  and  Dolly  wore  res- 
cued by  tiio  timely  aid  of  Joe  and  Edward  Ches- 
ter— the  disturbances  were  entirely  quelled,  and 
peace  and  order  were  restored  to  the  aflriphted 
city.  True,  after  what  had  happened,  it  was 
impossible  for  any  man  to  say  how  long  this  bet- 
ter state  of  thintrs  might  last,  or  how  suddenly 
new  outrages,  exceeding  even  tho?e  so  lately 
witnessed,  might  burst  forth,  and  fill  its  streets 
with  ruin  and  bloodshed;  for  this  reason,  those 
who  had  fled  from  the  recent  tumults  still  kept 
at  a  distance,  and  many  families,  hitherto  unable 
to  procure  the  means  of  flight,  now  availed 
themselves  of  the  calm,  and  withdrew  into  the 
country.  The  shops,  ton,  from  Tyburn  to  White- 
chapel,  were  still  shut;  and  very  little  business 
was  transacted  in  any  of  the  places  of  great 
commercial  resort.  But,  notwithstanding,  and 
in  spite  of  the  melancholy  forebodings  of  that 
numerous  class  of  society  who  see  with  the 
greatest  clearness  into  the  darkest  perspectives, 
the  town  remained  profoundly  quiet.  The  strong 
military  force  disposed  in  every  advantageous 
quarter,  and  stationed  at  every  commanding 
point,  held  the  scattered  fragments  of  the  mob 
in  cjieck ;  the  search  after  rioters  was  prose- 
cuted with  unrelenting  vigour;  and  if  there 
were  any  among  them  so  desperate  and  reckless 
as  to  be  inclined,  after  the  terrible  scenes  they 
had  beheld,  to  venture  forth  again,  they  were  so 
daunted  by  these  resolute  measures,  that  they 
quickly  shrunk  into  their  hiding-places,  and  had 
no  thought  but  for  therr  personal  safety. 

In  a  word,  the  crowd  was  utterly  routed. 
Upwards  of  two  hundred  had  been  shot  dead  in 
the  streets.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  more  were 
lyinor,  badly  wounded,  in  the  hospitals;  of  whom 
seventy  or  eighty  died  within  a  short  time  after- 
wards. A  hundred  were  already  in  custody,  and 
more  were  taken  every  hour.  How  many 
perished  in  the  conflagrations,  or  by  their  own 
excesses,  is  unknown;  but  that  numbers  found 
a  terrible  grave  in  the  hot  ashes  of  the  flames 
they  had  kindled,  or  crept  into  vaults  and  cel- 
lars to  drink  in  secret,  or  to  nurse  tiieir  sores, 
and  never  saw  the  light  again,  is  certain.  When 
the  embers  of  the  fires  had  been  black  and  cold 
for  many  weeks,  the  labourers'  spades  proved 
this  beyond  a  doubt. 

Seventy-two  private  houses  and  four  strong 
jails  were  destroyed  in  the  four  great  days  of 
these  great  riots.  The  total  loss  of  property,  as 
estimated  by  the  sufferers,  was  one  hundred  and 
fiftv-five  tiiousand  pounds;  at  the  lowest  and 
least  partial  estimate  of  disinterested  persons,  it 
exceeded  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand 
pounds.  For  this  immense  loss,  compensation 
was  soon  afterwards  made  out  of  the  public 
purse,  in  pursuance  of  a  vote  of  the  House  of 
Commons;  the  sum  being  levied  on  the  various 
wards  in  the  city,  and  on  the  county,  and  the 
borough  of  Southwark.     Both  Lord  Mansfield 


and  Lord  Saville,  however,  who  had  been  great 
sufferers,  refused  to  accept  of  any  compensation 
whatever. 

The  House  of  Commons  sitting  on  Tuesday, 
with  locked  and  guarded  doors,  had  passed  a  re- 
solution to  the  effect  that,  as  soon  as  the  tumulta 
subsided,  it  would  immediately  proceed  to  con- 
sider the  petitions  presented  from  many  of  hia 
majesty's  protostant  subjects,  and  would   take 
the  same  into  its  serious  consideration.     W'hile 
this  question  was  under  debate,  Mr.  Herbert, 
one  of  the  members  present,  indignantly  rose, 
I  and  called  upon  the  House  to  observe  that  Lord 
j  George  Goidon  was  then  sitting  under  the  gal- 
lery, with  the  blue  cockade,  the  signal  of  rebel- 
i  lion,  in  his  hat.     He  was  not  only  obliged,  by 
j  those  who  sat  near,  to  take  it  out,  but,  otfering 
1  to  go  into  the  street  to  pacify  the  mob  with  the 
I  somewhat  indefinite  assurance  that  the  House 
I  was   prepared  to  give  them  "the   satisfaction 
they  sought,"  was  actually  held  down  in  his  seal 
[  by  the  combined  force  of  several  members.     In 
short,  the  disorder  and  violence  which  reigned 
triumphant  out  of  doors,  penetrated   into   the 
senate,   and    there,   as   elsewhere,   terror    and 
I  alarm  prevailed,  and  ordinary  forms  were  for 
!  the  time  forgotten. 

On  the  Thursday,  both  houses  had  adjourned 
until  the  following  Monday  se'ennight,  declaring 
it  impossible  to  pursue  their  deliberations  with 
the  necessary  gravity  and  freedom,  while  they 
were  surrounded  with  armed  troops.  And  now 
that  tlje  rioters  wei-e  dispersed,  the  citizens 
were  beset  with  a  new  fear,  for  finding  the  pub- 
lic thoroughfiires  and  all  their  usual  places  of 
resort  filled  with  soldiers  entrusted  with  the 
free  and  unlimited  exercise  of  fire  and  sword, 
they  began  to  lend  a  greedy  ear  to  the  rumours 
which  were  afloat,  of  martial  law  being  declared, 
and  to  dismal  stories  of  prisoners  having  been 
seen  hanging  on  lamp-posts  in  Cheapside  and 
Fleet-street.  These  terrors  being  promptly  dis- 
pelled by  a  proclamation  declaring  that  all  the 
rioters  in  custody  would  bo  tried  by  a  special 
commission  in  due  course  of  law,  a  fresh  alarm 
was  engendered  by  its  being  whispered  abroad 
that  French  money  had  been  found  on  some  of 
the  rioters,  and  that  the  disturbances  had  been 
fomented  by  foreign  powers,  who  sought  to  com- 
pass the  overthrow  and  ruin  of  England.  Thia 
report,  which  was  strengthened  by  the  diff\ision 
of  anonymous  hand-bills,  but  which,  if  it  liad  any 
foundation  at  all,  probably  owed  its  origin  to  the 
circumstance  of  some  tew  coins  which  were  not 
English  money  having  been  swept  into  the  pock- 
ets of  the  insurgents  with  other  misceilaneoua 
booty,  and  afterwards  discovered  on  the  prison- 
j  ers  or  the  dead  bodies,  caused  a  great  sensation, 
and  men's  minds  being  in  that  excited  state 
when  they  are  most  apt  to  catch  at  any  shadow 
of  apprehension,  was  bruited  about  with  much 
industry. 
All  remaining  quiet,   however,  during  the 


2K3 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


whole  of  this  Friday,  and  on  this  Friday  nigrht, 
nnd  no  new  discoveries  being  made,  confidence 
began  to  be  restored,  and  the  most  timid  and 
desponding  breathed  again.  In  Southwark,  no 
fewer  than  three  thousand  of  the  inhabitants 
formed  tlieniieives  into  a  watch,  and  patrolled 
the  streets  every  iiour.  Nor  were  tlie  citizens 
slow  to  follow  so  good  an  example ;  and  it  being 
the  manner  of  peaceful  men  to  be  very  bold 
when  the  danger  is  over,  they  were  abimdantly 
fierce  and  daring;  not  scrupling  to  question  the 
stoutet^t  passenger  with  great  severity,  and  car- 
rying it  with  a  very  high  hand  over  all  errand 
boys,  servant  girls,  and  'prentices. 

As  this  day  deepened  into  evening,  and  dark- 
ness crept  into  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the 
town  as  if  it  were  mustering  in  secret,  and  ga- 
thering strength  to  venture  into  the  open  ways, 
Barnaby  sat  in  his  dungeon,  wondering  at  the 
silence,  and  listening  in  vain  for  the  noise  and 
outcry  which  liad  ushered  in  the  night  of  late. 
Beside  him,  with  his  liand  in  hers,  sat  one  in 
whose  companionship  he  felt  at  peace  and  tran- 
quil. She  was  worn  and  altered  ;  full  of  grief; 
and  heavy-hearted;  but  the  same  to  him. 

"Mother,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence. 
"  how  long,  —  how  many  days  and  nights,  — 
shall  I  be  kept  herel" 

"Not  many,  dear.     I  hope  not  many." 

"You  hope!  ay,  but  your  hoping  will  not  un- 
do these  chains.  /  hope,  but  they  don't  mind 
that.     Grip  hopes,  but  who  cares  for  Grip !" 

The  raven  gave  a  short,  dull,  melancholy 
croak.  It  said  "  nobody,"  as  plainly  as  a  croak 
could  speak. 

"Who  cares  for  Grip,  excepting  you  and 
me?"  said  Barnaby,  smoothing  the  bird's  rum- 
pled feathers  with  his  hand.  "  He  never  speaks 
in  this  place;  he  never  says  a  word  in  jail;  he 
sits  and  mopes  all  day  in  this  dark  corner,  doz- 
ing sometimes,  and  sometimes  looking  at  the 
light  that  creeps  in  through  the  bars,  and  shines 
in  his  bright  eye  as  if  a  .'■park  from  those  great 
fires  iiad  fallen  into  the  room  and  was  burning 
yet.     But  who  cares  for  Grip]" 

The  raven  croaked  again — Nobody. 

"And  by  the  way,"  said  Barnaby,  withdraw- 
ing his  hand  from  the  bird,  and  laying  it  upon 
his  mother's  arm,  as  he  looked  eagerly  in  her 
face,  "  if  they  kill  me — tiicy  may;  I  heard  it 
said  tlicy  would  —  what  will  become  of  Grip 
when  I  am  dead?" 

The  sound  of  the  word,  or  the  current  of  his 
own  thoughts,  suggested  to  Grip  his  old  phrase, 
"Never  say  die."  But  he  stopped  short  in  the 
middle  of  it,  drew  a  dismal  cork,  and  subsided 
into  a  faint  croak,  as  if  he  lacked  the  heart  to 
get  through  the  shortest  sentence. 

"Will  they  take  his  life  as  well  as  mine?" 
said  Barnaby.  "I  wish  they  would.  If  j'ou 
and  I  and  he  could  die  together,  there  would  be 
none  to  feel  sorry  or  to  grieve  for  us.  But  do 
what  tney  will,  I  don't  fear  them,  mother." 

"  They  will  not  harm  yon,"  she  said,  her  tears 
choking  her  utterance  ;  "  They  never  will  harm 
vou  when  they  know  all.  I  am  sure  they  never 
'will." 


"  Oh !  Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that,"  criej 
Barnaby,  with  a  strange  pleasure  in  the  belief 
that  she  was  self-deceived,  and  in  his  own  sa- 
gacity. "  They  have  marked  me,  mother,  from 
the  first.  I  heard  them  say  so  to  each  other 
when  they  brought  me  to  this  place;  last  night; 
and  1  believe  them.  Don't  you  cry  for  me. 
They  said  that  I  was  bold,  and  so  I  am,  and  so 
I  will  be.  You  may  think  that  1  am  silly,  but 
I  can  die  as  well  as  another. — I  have  done  no 
harm,  have  I  !"  he  added  quickly. 

"  None  before  Heaven,"  she  answered. 

"  Why  then,"  said  Barnaby,  "  let  them  do 
their  worst.  You  told  me  once — you — when  I 
asked  you  what  death  meant,  that  it  was  nothing 
to  be  feared,  if  we  did  no  harm — Aha  I  mother, 
you  thought  I  had  forgotten  that!" 

His  merry  laugh  and  playful  manner  smote 
her  to  the  heart.  She  drew  him  closer  to  her, 
and  besought  him  to  talk  to  her  in  whispers  and 
to  be  very  quiet,  for  it  was  getting  dark,  and 
their  time  was  short,  and  she  would  soon  have 
to  leave  him  for  the  night. 

"  You  will  come  to-morrow  ?"  said  Barnaby. 

Yes.  And  every  day.  And  they  would 
never  part  again. 

He  joyfully  replied  that  this  was  well,  and 
what  he  wished,  and  what  he  had  felt  quite  cer- 
tain she  would  tell  him ;  and  then  he  asked  her 
where  she  had  been  so  long;  and  why  she  had 
not  come  to  see  him  when  he  was  a  great  sol- 
dier; and  ran  through  the  wild  schemes  he  had 
had  for  their  being  rich  and  living  prosperously; 
and  with  some  faint  notion  in  his  mind  that  she 
was  sad  and  he  had  made  her  so,  tried  to  con- 
sole and  comfort  her,  and  talked  of  their  former 
life,  and  his  old  sports  and  freedom;  little 
dreaming  that  every  word  he  uttered,  only  in- 
creased her  sorrow,  and  that  her  tears  fell  faster 
at  the  freshened  recollection  of  their  lost  tran- 
quillity. 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  as  they  heard  the 
man  approaching  to  close  the  cells  for  tlie  night, 
"  w  hen  I  spoke  to  you  just  now  about  my  father 
you  cried  '  Hush  I'  and  turned  away  your  head  ; 
why  did  you  do  so?  Tell  me  why  in  a  word? 
You  thought  he  was  dead.  You  are  not  sorry 
that  he  is  alive  and  has  come  back  to  us — where 
is  he?     Here?" 

"  Do  not  ask  any  one  where  he  is,  or  speak 
about  him,"  she  made  answer. 

"  Why  not?"  said  Barnaby.  "Because  he  is 
a  stern  man  and  talks  rouphly  ?  Well !  I  don't 
like  him,  or  want  to  be  with  liim  by  myself;  but 
why  not  speak  about  him?" 

"Because  I  am  sorry  that  he  is  alive;  sorry 
that  he  has  come  back ;  and  sorry  that  lie  and 
you  have  ever  met.  Because,  dear  Barnaby, 
the  endeavour  of  my  life  has  been  to  keep  you 
two  asunder." 

"  Father  and  son  asunder  !     Why  ?" 

"  He  has,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "he  nas 
shed  blood.  The  time  has  come  w  hen  you  must 
know  it.  He  has  shed  the  blood  of  one  who 
loved  him  well,  and  trusted  him,  and  never  did 
him  wrong  in  word  or  deed." 

Barnaby  recoiled  in  horror,  and  glancing  at 


BARNABY  RUDGi:. 


289 


his  stained  wris^t  for  an  instant,  wrapped  it,shud- 
derinsj,  in  his  dress. 

"But,"  she  added  hastily,  as  the  key  turned 
in  the  locli,  "and  although  we  shun  him,  he  is 
voiir  father,  dearest,  and  I  am  his  wretched 
"wife.  Thev  seek  his  life,  and  he  will  lose  it. 
It  must  not" be  by  our  means;  nay,  if  we  could 
viin  him  back  to  penitence,  we  should  be  bound 
til  love  him  yet.  Do  not  seem  to  know  him,  ex- 
cept as  one  who  fled  with  you  from  the  jail ; 
and  if  they  question  you  about  him,  do  not  an- 
swer them.  God  be  with  you  through  the  night, 
dear  boy  !     God  be  with  you  !" 

She  tore  herself  away,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
Barnaby  was  alone.  He  stood  for  a  long  time 
rooted  to  the  spot,  with  his  face  hidden  in  his 
nands;  then  flung  himself,  sobbing,  upon  his 
miserable  bed. 

But  the  moon  came  slowly  up  in  all  her  gen- 
tle glory,  and  the  stars  looked  out;  and  through 
the  small  compass  of  the  grated  window,  as 
through  the  narrow  crevice  of  one  good  deed  in 
a  murky  life  of  guilt,  the  face  of  Heaven  shone 
bright  and  merciful.  He  raised  his  head  ;  gazed 
upward  at  the  quiet  sky,  which  seemed  to  smile 
upon  the  earth  in  sadness,  as  if  the  night  more 
thoughtful  than  the  day  looked  down  in  sorrow 
on  the  suflerings  and  evil  deeds  of  men ;  and 
felt  its  peace  sink  deep  into  his  heart.  He,  a 
poor  idiot,  caged  in  his  narrow  cell,  was  as  much 
lifted  up  to  God,  while  gazing  on  that  mild  light, 
as  the  freest  and  most  favoured  man  in  all  the 
spacious  city;  and  in  his  ill-remembered  prayer, 
and  in  the  fragment  of  the  childish  hymn,  with 
which  he  sung  and  crooned  himself  asleep, 
there  breathed  as  true  a  spirit  as  ever  studied 
homily  expressed,  or  old  cathedral  arches 
echoed. 

As  his  mother  crossed  a  yard  on  her  way  out, 
she  saw,  throuirh  a  grated  door,  which  separated 
it  from  another  court,  her  husband,  walking 
round  and  round,  with  his  hands  folded  on  his 
breast,  and  his  head  hung  down.  She  asked 
the  man  who  conducted  her,  if  she  might  speak 
a  word  with  this  prisoner.  Yes,  but  she  must 
be  quick,  for  he  was  locking  up  for  the  night, 
and  there  was  but  a  minute  or  so  to  spire. 
Saying  this,  he  unlocked  the  door,  and  bade  her 
go  in. 

It  grated  harslily  as  it  turned  upon  its  hinges, 
out  he  was  deaf  to  the  noise,  and  still  walked 
round  and  round  the  little  court,  without  raising 
his  head  or  changing  his  attitude  in  the  least. 
She  spoke  to  him,  but  her  voice  was  weak,  and 
failed  her.  At  length  she  put  herself  in  his 
track,  and  when  he  came  near,  stretched  out  her 
hand  and  touched  him. 

He  started  backward,  trembling  from  head  to 
foot;  but  seeing  who  it  was,  demanded  why  she 
came  there.  Before  she  could  reply,  he  spoke 
again. 

"Am  I  to  live  or  diel  Do  you  murder  too, 
or  spare  ]" 

"  .My  son — our  son,"  she  answered,  "  is  in  this 
prison." 

"What  is  that  to  me?"  he  cried,  stamping 
impatiently  on  the  stone  pavement.     "  I  know 


it.    He  can  no  more  aid  me  tlian  I  can  aid  him. 
If  you  are  come  to  talk  of  him,  begone  !" 

As  he  spoke  he  resumed  his  walk,  and  hur- 
ried round  the  court  as  befiire.  When  he  came 
again  to  where  she  stood,  he  stopped,  and  said, 

"  Am  I  to  live  or  die  1     Do  you  repent'?" 

"Oh! — do  your  she  answered.  "  Will  you, 
while  time  remains  !  Do  not  believe  that  I  could 
save  you,  if  I  dared." 

"  Say  if  you  would,"  he  answered  w  ith  an 
oath,  as  he  tried  to  disengage  himself  and  pass 
on.     "Say  if  you  would." 

"  Listen  to  me  for  one  moment,"  she  return- 
ed ;  "  for  but  a  moment.  I  am  but  newly  risen 
from  a  sick  bed,  from  which  I  never  hoped  to 
*  rise  again.  The  best  among  us  think  at  such  a 
time  of  good  intentions  half-performed  and  du- 
ties left  undone.  If  I  have  ever,  since  that  fatal 
night,  omitted  to  pray  for  your  repentance  be- 
fore death — if  I  omitted  even  then,  anything 
which  might  tend  to  urge  it  on  you  when  the 
horror  of  your  crime  was  fresh — if,  in  our  later 
meeting,  I  yielded  to  the  dread  that  was  upon 
me,  and  forgot  to  fall  upon  my  knees  and  so- 
lemnly adjure  you,  in  the  name  of  him  whon; 
you  sent  to  his  account  with  Heaven,  to  prepare 
for  the  retribution  which  must  come,  and  which 
is  stealing  on  you  now,  I  humbly  belore  you, 
I  and  in  the  agony  of  supplication  in  which  you 
see  me,  beseech  that  you  will  let  me  mako 
[  atonement." 

I  "  What  is  the  meaning  of  your  canting 
!  words  1"  he  answered  roughly.  "Speak  so  that 
I  may  understand  you." 
I  "I  will,"  she  answered,  "I  desire  to.  Bear 
with  me  for  a  moment  more.  The  hand  of  Him 
who  set  his  curse  on  murder,  is  heavy  on  us 
now.  You  cannot  doubt  it.  Our  son,  our  inno- 
cent boy,  on  whom  His  anger  fell  before  his 
birth,  is  in  this  place,  in  peril  of  his  life — brought 
here  by  your  guilt;  yes,  by  that  alone,  as 
Heaven  sees  and  knows,  for  he  has  been  led 
astray  in  the  darkness  of  his  intellect,  and  that 
the  terrible  consequence  of  your  crime." 

"If  you  come,  woman-like,  to  load  me  with 
reproaches — "  he  muttered,  again  endeavouring 
to  break  away. 

"  —  I  do  not.  I  have  a  different  purpose. 
You  must  hear  it.  If  not  to-night,  to  morrow; 
if  not  to-morrow,  at  another  time.  You  must  hear 
it.     Huriband,  escape  is  hopeless — impossible." 

"  You  tell  me  so,  do  you!"  he  said,  raising 
his  manacled  hand,  and  siiaking  it.     "  You  !" 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  indescribable  earnest- 
ness.    "  But  vviiy  ]" 

"  To  make  me  easy  in  this  jail.  To  make  thti 
time  'twixt  this  and  death,  p;iss  pleasantly.  Ha 
ha !  For  my  good — yes,  tor  niy  good,  of  course," 
he  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  and  smiling  at  her 
with  a  livid  face. 

"Not  to  load  yon  with  reproaches,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  not  to  aggravate  the  tortures  and  mise- 
ries of  your  condition;  not  to  give  you  one  hard 
word;  but  to  restore  you  to  peace  and  hope. 
Husband,  dear  husband,  if  you  will  hut  confess 
this  dreadful  crime,  if  you  will  but  imjilore  foi- 
giveness  of  Heaven  and  of  those  whom  you  hav<' 


290 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


wronged  on  earth;  if  you  will  dismiss  these 
vain,  uneasy  thoughts,  which  never  can  be  re- 
nlized,  and  will  rely  on  Penitence  and  on  the 
Truth,  I  protiiise  you,  in  the  great  name  of  the 
Creator,  whose  image  you  have  defaced,  that 
lie  will  comfort  and  console  you.  And  for  my- 
fcelf,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  and  looking 
upward,  "  I  swear  before  him,  as  he  knows  my 
heart,  and  reads  it  now,  that  from  that  hour  I 
will  love  and  cherish  you  as  I  did  of  old,  and 
watch  you  night  and  day  in  the  short  interval 
that  v\ill  remain  to  us,  and  soothe  you  with 
m.y  truest  love  and  duty,  and  pray,  with  you, 
that  one  threatening  judgment  may  be  arrested, 
and  that  our  boy  may  be  spared  to  bless  God,  in 
his  poor  way,  in  the  free  air  and  sunlight!" 

He  fell  back  and  gazed  at  her  as  she  poured 
out  these  words,  as  though  he  were  for  a  mo- 
ment awed  by  her  manner,  and  knew  not  what 
to  do.  But  rage  and  fear  soon  got  the  mastery 
of  birn,  and  he  spurned  her  from  him. 

"  Begone  !"  he  cried.  "  Leave  me  !  You 
plot,  do  you  ]  You  plot  to  get  speech  with  me, 
and  let  them  know  I  am  the  man  they  say  I  am. 
A  curse  on  you  and  on  your  boy." 

"On  him  the  curse  has  already  fallen,"  she 
replied,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Let  it  fall  heavier.  Let  it  fall  on  one  and 
all.  I  hate  ye  both.  The  worst  has  come  to 
me.  The  only  comfort  that  I  seek  or  I  can  have, 
will  be  the  knowledge  that  it  comes  to  you.  Be- 
gone !" 

She  would  have  urged  him  gently,  even  then, 
but  he  menaced  her  with  his  chain. 

"  I  say  begone — I  say  it  for  the  last  time ; 
and  do  not  lempt  me.  The  gallows  has  me  in 
its  grasp,  and  it  is  a  black  phantom  that  may 
urge  me  on  to  something  more  before  it  coils 
its  arm  around  my  throat.  Begone  !  I  curse  the 
hour  that  I  was  born,  the  man  I  slev;,  and  all 
the  living  world  !" 

In  a  paroxysm,  of  wriMi,  and  terror,  and  the 
fear  of  death,  he  broke  'Vom  her,  and  rusned 
into  the  darkness  of  his  ceii,  where  he  cast  him- 
self jangling  down  upon  the  stone  floor,  and  smote 
it  with  his  ironed  hands.  The  man  returned  to 
lock  the  dungeon  door,  and  having  done  so,  car- 
ried her  away. 

On  that  warm,  balmy  night  in  June,  there 
were  glad  faces  and  light  hearts  in  all  quarters 
of  the  town;  and  sleep,  banished  by  the  late 
iiorrors,  was  doubly  welcomed.     On  that  nigiit, 


families  made  merry  in  their  houses,  and  greeU 
ed  each  other  on  the  common  danger  they  hau 
escaped ;  and  those  who  had  been  denounced, 
ventured  into  the  streets;  and  they  who  had 
been  plundered,  got  good  shelter.  Even  the 
timorous  Lord  Mayor,  who  was  sumr.-^oncd  that 
night  before  the  Privy  Council  to  answer  forhig 
conduct,  came  back  contented  ;  observing  to  m\ 
his  friends  that  he  had  got  off  very  weirwith  a 
reprimand,  and  repeating  with  huge  satisfaction 
his  memorable  defence  before  tiie council,  "that 
such  was  his  temerity,  he  thought  death  would 
have  been  his  pf)rtion." 

On  that  night,  too,  more  of  the  scattered  rem- 
nants of  the  mob  were  traced  to  their  lurking 
places,  and  taken;  and  in  the  hospitals,  and 
deep  among  the  ruins  they  had  made,  and  in  the 
ditches  and  the  fields,  many  unshrouded  wretches 
lay  dead — envied  by  those  who  had  been  active 
in  the  disturbances,  and  pillowed  their  doomed 
heads  in  the  temporary  jails. 

And  in  the  Tower,  in  a  dreary  room,  whose 
thick  stone  walls  shut  out  the  hum  of  life,  and 
made  a  silence  which  the  records  left  by  former 
prisoners  with  those  silent  witnesses  seemed  lo 
deepen  and  intensify;  remorseful  fur  every  act 
that  had  been  done  by  every  man  among  the 
cruel  crowd;  feeling  for  the  time  their  guilt 
his  own,  and  their  lives  put  in  peril  by  himself; 
and  finding,  amidst  such  reflections,  little  com- 
fort in  fanaticism,  or  in  his  fancied  call,  sat  the 
unhappy  author  of  all — Lord  George  Gordon. 

He  had  been  made  prisoner  that  evening. 
"If  you  are  sure  it's  me  you  want,"  he  said  to 
the  officer,  who  waited  outside  with  the  war- 
rant for  his  arrest  on  a  charge  of  Hioh  Treason, 
"  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you — "  which  he 
did  without  resistance.  He  was  conducted  first 
before  the  Privy  Council,  and  afterwards  to  the 
Horse  Guards,  and  then  was  taken  by  way  of 
Westminster  Bridge,  and  back  over  London 
Bridjre.  Hbr  the  nuroose  of  avoiding  the  main 
streets.)  to  the  Tower,  under  the  strongest  guari 
ever  known  to  enter  its  gates  with  a  single  pri- 
soner. 

Of  all  the  forty  thousand  men,  not  one  re- 
mained to  bear  him  company.  Fi  lends,  depend- 
ants, followers, — none  were  there.  His  fawning 
secretary  had  played  the  traitor;  and  he  whose 
weakness  had  been  goaded  and  urged  on  by  so 
many  for  their  own  purposes  was  desolate  and 
j  alone. 


BARNABY    RUDUE. 


391 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-FOURTH. 


Mr.  Dennis,  having  been  made  prisoner  late 
in  the  cvoniii'f,  was  removed  to  a  iieiirhbouring 
round-house  for  that  night,  and  carriod  before  a 
instice  for  examination  on  the  ne.xt  da}%  Satur- 
oay.  The  charges  against  him  beinir  numerous 
and  vveiglity,  and  it  being  in  pHrlicular  proved 
by  the  testimony  of  John  Willet  and  Gabriel 
Varden,  that  he  had  shown  a  special  desire  to 
lake  their  lives,  he  was  committed  for  trial.  1 
Moreover,  he  was  honoured  with  the  distinction  1 
of  being  considered  a  chief  among  the  insur- 
orents,  and  received  from  the  magistrate's  lips 
the  complimentary  assurance  that  he  was  in  a 
position  of  imminent  danger,  and  would  do  well 
to  prepare  himself  for  the  worst. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Dennis's  modesty  was  not 
somewhat  startled  by  these  honours,  or  that  he 
was  altogether  prepared  for  so  flattering  a  re- 
ception, would  be  to  claim  for  him  a  greater 
amount  of  stoical  philosophy  than  even  he  pos- 
sessed. Indeed  this  gentleman's  stoicism  was 
of  that,  not  uncommon  kind,  which  enables  a 
man  to  bear  with  exemplary  fortitude  the  atHic- 
tions  of  his  friends,  but  renders  him,  by  way  of 
counterpoise,  rather  selfish  and  sensitive  in  re- 
spect of  any  that  happen  to  befall  himself.  It  is 
therefore  no  disparagement  to  the  great  officer 
in  question,  to  state  without  disguise  or  conceal- 
ment, that  he  was  at  first  very  much  alarmed, 
and  that  he  betrayed  divers  emotions  of  fear,  un- 
til his  reasoning  powers  came  to  his  relief,  and 
set  before  him  a  more  hopeful  prospect. 

In  proportion  as  Mr.  Dennis  exercised  these 
intellectual  qualities  with  which  he  was  gifted, 
reviewing  his  best  chances  of  coming  oft' hand- 
somely, and  with  small  personal  inconvenience, 
his  spirits  rose,  and  his  confidence  increased. 
When  he  remembered  the  great  estimation  in 
which  his  office  was  held,  and  the  constant  de- 
mand for  his  services;  when  he  bethoufjht  him- 
self how  the  Statute  Book  regarded  liim  as  a 
kind  of  universal  medicine  applicable  to  men, 
women,  and  children,  of  every  age  and  variety 
of  criminal  constitution;  and  how  high  he  stood 
in  his  official  capacity,  in  the  favour  of  the 
crown,  and  both  Houses  of  Parliament,  the 
Mint,  the  Bank  of  England,  and  the  judges  of 
the  land ;  w  hen  he  recollected  that  whatever 
ministry  was  in  or  out,  he  remainpd  their  pecu- 
liar pet  and  panacea,  and  that  for  his  sake  Eng- 
land stood  single  and  conspicuous  among  the 
civilized  nations  of  the  earth — when  he  called 
hese  things  to  mind  and  dwelt  upon  them,  he 
felt  certain  that  the  national  giatitude  must  re- 
lieve him  from  the  consequences  of  his  late  pro- 
ceedings, and  would  certainly  restore  him  to  his 
old  place  in  the  happy  social  system. 

With  these  crumbs,  or  as  one  may  say,  with 
these  whole  loaves  of  comfort  to  regale  upon, 
Mr.  Dennis  took  his  place  among  the  escort 
that  awaited  him,  and  repaired  to  jail  with  a 
manly  indifference.  Arriving  at  Newgate  where 
■some  (f  the  ruined  cells  had  been  hastily  fitted 


up  for  the  safe  keeping  of  rioters,  he  was  warm- 
ly received  by  the  turnkeys,  as  an  unusual  and 
interesting  case,  which  agreeably  relieved  their 
monotonous  duties.  In  this  spirit,  he  was  fet- 
tered with  great  care,  and  conveyed  into  the 
interior  of  the  prison. 

"  Brother,"  cried  the  hangman,  as,  following 
an  officer,  he  traversed  under  these  novel  cir- 
cumstances the  remains  of  passages  with  wliich 
he  was  well  acquainted,  "  am  I  going  to  be  along 
with  anybody !" 

"  If  you  had  left  more  walls  standing,  you  'd 
have  been  alone,"  was  the  reply.  "As  it  is, 
we're  cramped  for  room,  and  you'll  have  com- 
pany." 

"  Well,"  returned  Dennis,  "  I  don't  object  to 
company,  brother,  I  rather  like  company.  I  was 
formed  for  society,  I  was." 

"That's  rather  a  pity,  an't  it]"  said  the 
man. 

"  No,"  answered  Dennis,  "  I  'm  not  aware 
that  it  is.     Why  should  it  be  a  pity,  brother  V 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man  careiessly. 
"I  thought  that  was  what  you  meant.  Being 
formed  for  society,  and  being  cut  off  in  your 
flower,  you  know — " 

"  I  say,"  interposed  the  other  quickly,  "  what 
are  you  talking  of?  Don't !  Wlio's  a  going  to 
be  cut  off  in  their  flowers]" 

"  Oh,  nobody  particular.— I  thought  you  was, 
perhaps,"  said  the  man. 

Mr.  Dennis  wiped  his  face,  which  had  sud- 
denly grown  very  hot,  and  remarking  in  a  tre- 
mulous voice  to  his  conductor,  that  he  had 
always  been  fond  of  his  joke,  followed  him  in 
silence  until  he  stopped  at  a  door. 

"  This  is  my  quarters,  is  it !"  he  asked,  face- 
tiously. 

"  This  is  the  shop,  sir,"  replied  his  friend. 
He  was  walking  in,  but  not  with  the  best 
possible  grace,  when  he  suddenly  stopped,  and 
started  back. 

"Halloa!"  said  the  officer.  "You're  ner- 
vous." 

"Nervous!"    whispered    Dennis,    in    great 

alarm.     "  Well  I  may  be.     Shut  the  door." 

"  I  will,  when  you're  in,"  rettirupd  the  man. 

"But  I  can't  go  in  there,"  whispered  Dennis. 

"I  can't  be  shut  up  with   that  man.     Do  you 

want  me  to  be  throttled,  brother  ]" 

The  officer  seemed  to  entertain  no  particular 
desire  on  the  subject  one  way  or  other,  but 
briefly  remarking  that  he  had  his  orders,  and 
intended  to  obey  them,  pushed  him  in,  turned 
the  key,  and  retired. 

Dennis  stood  trembling  with  his  back  against 
the  door,  and  involuntarily  raising  his  arm  to  de 
fend  himself,  stared  at  a  man,  the  only  other, 
tenant  of  the  cell,  who  lay,  strrtchcd  at  his  full 
length,  upon  a  stone  bench,  and  who  paused  in 
his  deep  breathing  as  if  he  w-ero  about  to  wake. 
But  he  relied  over  on  one  side,  let  his  arm  fiiL 


202 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


ne<rligpnt!y  down,  drew  a  lonrf  sigh,  and  niur- 
miiring  iiulitstiiictly,  fell  last  asleep  again. 

Relieved  in  t^ome  degree  by  this,  the  hangman 
took  his  eyes  for  an  instant  from  the  shiiiibering 
figure,  and  glanced  round  the  cell  in  search  of 
sotne  'vantage-ground  or  weapon  of  defence. 
There  was  nothing  moveable  within  it,  but  a 
clumsy  table  which  could  not  be  displaced  with- 
out noise,  and  a  heavy  chair.  Stealing  on  tip- 
toe towards  this  latter  piece  of  furniture,  he  re- 
tired with  it  into  the  remotest  corner,  and 
intrenching  himself  behind  if,  watched  the  ene- 
my with  the  utmost  vigilance  and  caution. 

The  sleeping  man  was  Hugh;  and  perhaps  it 
was  not  unnatural  for  Dennis  to  feel  in  a  state 
of  very  uncomfortable  suspense,  and  to  wish 
with  his  whole  soul  that  he  might  never  wake 
again.  Tired  of  standing,  he  crouched  down  in 
his  corner  after  some  time,  and  rested  on  the 
cold  pavement;  but  although  Hugh's  breathing 
still  proclaimed  that  he  was  sleeping  soundly, 
he  could  not  trust  him  out  of  his  sight  for  an  in- 
stant. He  was  so  afraid  of  him,  and  of  some 
sudden  oiislaiight,  that  he  was  not  content  to  see 
.'lis  closed  eyes  through  the  chair-back,  but  every 
now  and  then,  rose  stealthily  to  his  feet,  and 


peered  at  him  with  outstretched  ne'^k,  to  assure 
himself  that  he  really  was  still  asleep,  and  was 
not  about  to  spring  upon  him  when  he  was  otf 
his  guard. 

He  slept  so  long  and  so  soundly,  iliat  Mr 
Dennis  began  to  think  he  might  sleep  uii  until 
the  turnkey  visited  them.  He  was  conirratu- 
lating  himself  upon  these  promising  appearances, 
and  blessing  his  stars  with  much  fervour,  when 
one  or  two  unpleasant  symptoms  mamfesteiJ 
themselves:  such  as  another  motion  of  the  arm, 
another  sigh,  a  restless  tossing  of  the  head. 
Then,  just  as  it  seemed  that  he  was  about  to  fail 
heavily  to  the  ground  from  his  narrow  bed, 
Hugh's  eyes  opened. 

It  happened  that  his  face  was  turned  directly 
towa-rds  his  unexpected  visiter.  He  looked  la- 
zily at  him  for  some  half-dozen  seconds  without 
any  aspect  of  surprise  or  recognition ;  then  sud- 
denly jumped  up,  and  with  a  great  oath,  pro- 
nounced his  name. 

"  Keep  off,  brother,  keep  oft'!"  cried  Dennis, 
dodging  behind  the  chair.  "  Don't  do  me  a  mis- 
chief. "  I'm  a  prisoner  like  you.  I  haven't  the 
free  use'of  my  limbs,  I'm  quite  an  old  man. 
Don't  hurt  me  !" 


He  whined  out  the  last  three  words  in  such 
piteous  accents,  that  Hugh,  who  had  dragged 
away  the  chair,  and  aimed  a  blow  at  him  with 
it,  checked  himself,  and  bade  liim  g<^t  up. 

"I'll  get  up,  certainly,  brother,"  cried  Den- 
nis, anxious  to  propitiate  him  by  any  means  in 
his  powPT.  "I'll  comply  with  any  request  of 
yours,  I 'm  sure.  There — I'm  up  now.  What 
can  I  do  for  you'!  Only  say  the  word,  and  I'll 
(io  it.' 

"What  can  you  do  for  me!"  cried  Hugh, 
clutching  him  by  the  collar  with  both  hands, 


and  shaking  him  as  though  he  were  bent  or 
stopping  his  breath  by  that  means.  "  What 
havi>  von  done  for  me  ]" 

"The  best.  The  best  that  could  be  done," 
returned  the  hangman. 

Hugh  made  hiin  no  answer,  but  shaking  him 
in  his  strong  gripe  until  his  teeth  cfiattered  in 
his  head,  cast  him  down  upon  the  floor,  and  flung 
himself  on  the  bench  again. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  the  comfort  it  is  to  mc,  to  seo 
you  here,"  he  muttered,  "  I  'd  have  crushed  you; 
head  against  it ;  I  would." 


BARN  AC  Y    RUDGE. 


293 


It  was  some  time  before  Dennis  had  breath 
enough  to  speak,  but  as  toon  as  ho  could  resume 
his  propitiatory  strain,  he  did  so. 

"I  did  the  be.-t  tliat  could  be  done,  brother," 
he  whined;  "1  did  indeed.  I  was  forced  with 
two  bayonets,  ai.J  I  don't  know  how  many  bul- 
lets, on  each  side  of  me,  to  point  you  out.  If 
you  hadn't  been  taken,  you'd  have  been  shot; 
and  what  a  siglit  that  would  have  been — a  fine 
youn*]:  man  like  you!" 

"  VVill  it  be  a  better  sight  nowl"  asked 
Hugh,  raising  his  head  with  such  a  fierce  ex- 
pression, that  the  other  durst  not  answer  him 
just  then. 

"  A  deal  better,"  said  Dennis  meekly,  after  a 
pause.  "  First,  there 's  all  the  clianccs  of  the 
law,  and  they  're  five  hundred  strong.  We  may 
get  off  scot-free.  Unlikelier  things  than  that 
have  come  to  pass.  Even  if  we  shouldn't,  and 
the  chances  fail,  we  can  but  be  worked  off  once, 
and  when  it's  well  done,  it's  so  neat,  so  skilful, 
BO  captivating,  if  that  don't  seem  too  strong  a 
word,  that  you'd  liardjy  believe  it  could  be 
brought  to  sich  perfection.  Kill  one's  fellow- 
creeters  off  with  muskets! — Pah  !"  and  his  na- 
ture so  revolted  at  the  bare  idea,  that  he  spat 
upon  the  dungeon  pavement. 

His  warming  on  this  topic,  which,  to  one  un- 
acquainted with  iiis  pursuits  and  tastes,  appeared 
like  courage,  together  with  his  artful  suppres- 
sion of  his  own  secret  hopes,  and  mention  of 
himself  as  bcmg  in  the  same  condition  with 
Hugh,  did  more  to  soothe  that  ruffian  than  the 
most  elaborate  arguments  could  have  done,  or 
the  most  abject  submission.  He  rested  his  arms 
upon  his  knees,  and  stooping  forward,  looked 
from  beneath  his  shaggy  hair  at  Dennis,  with 
something  of  a  smile  upon  his  face. 

"The  fact 'is  brother,"  said  the  hangman,  in 
a  tone  of  greater  confidence,  "that  you  got  into 
ba<l  company.  The  man  that  was  with  you  was 
looked  after  more  than  you,  and  it  was  him  I 
wanted.  As  to  me,  what  have  1  got  by  it? 
Here  we  are,  in  one  and  the  same  plight." 

"Lookee,  rascal,"  said  Hugh,  contracting  his 
brows,  "  I  'm  not  altogether  such  a  shallow  blade 
but  1  know  you  expected  to  get  something  by 
it,  or  you  would  not  have  done  it.  But  it's  done, 
and  you  're  here,  and  it  will  soon  be  all  over 
with  you  and  me;  and  I'd  as  soon  die  as  live,  or 
live  as  die.  Why  should  I  trouble  myself  to  have 
revenge  on  you^  To  cat,  and  drink,  and  go  to 
Bleep,  as  long  as  I  stay  here,  is  all  I  care  for.  If 
there  was  but  a  little  more  sun  to  bask  in,  than 
can  find  its  way  into  this  cursed  place,  I  'd  lie  in 
it  all  day,  and  not  trouble  myself  to  sit  or  stand 
up  once.  "That's  all  the  care  I  have  for  my- 
Eell".  Why  should  I  care  for  youT 
19 


Finishing  this  speech  with  a  growl  like  tho 
yawn  of  a  wild  beast,  he  stretched  himself  upon 
the  bench  again,  and  closed  his  eyes  once  more. 

After  looking  at  him  in  silence  for  some  mo- 
ments, Dennis,  who  was  greatly  relieved  to  find 
him  in  this  mood,  drew  the  chair  towards  his 
rough  couch  and  sat  down  near  him — taking  the 
precaution,  however,  to  keep  out  of  the  range 
of  his  brawny  arm. 

"Well  said,  brother;  nothing  could  be  better 
said,"  he  ventured  to  observe.  "  We'll  eat  and 
drink  of  the  best,  and  sleep  our  best,  and  make 
the  best  of  it  every  way.  Anything  can  be  got 
for  money.     Let's  spend  it  merrily." 

"Ay,"  said  Hugh,  coiling  himself  into  a  new 
position. — "Where  is  it!" 

"  Wiiy,they  took  mine  from  me  at  the  lodge," 
said  Mr.  Dennis;  "but  mine's  a  peculiar  case." 

"  Is  it  1    They  took  mine,  too." 

"  Why,  then,  I  tell  you  what,  brother,"  Den- 
nis began,  "you  must  look  up  your  friends — " 

"J\]y  friends !"  cried  Hugh,  starting  up,  and 
resting  on  his  hands,  "where  are  my  friends'!" 

"  Your  relations,  then,"  said  Dennis. 

"Ha  ha  ha!"  laughed  Hugh,  waving  one  arm 
above  his  head.  "  He  talks  of  friends  to  me — 
talks  of  relations  to  a  man  whose  mother  died  the 
death  in  store  for  her  son,  and  left  him  a  hungry 
brat,  without  a  face  he  knew  in  all  the  world ! 
He  talks  of  this  to  me  !" 

"Brother,"  cried  the  hangman,  whose  features 
underwent  a  sudden  change,  "yoH  don't  mean 
to  say — " 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  Hugh  interposed,  "  that  they 
hung  her  up  at  Tyburn  :  what  was  good  enough 
for  her  is  good  enough  for  me.  Let  them  do  the 
like  by  me  as  soon  as  they  please — the  sooner 
the  better.  Say  no  more  to  me.  I  'm  going  to 
sleep." 

"  But  I  want  to  speak  to  you  ;  I  want  to  hear 
more  about  that,"  said  Dennis,  changing  colour. 

"If  you're  a  wise  man,"  growled  Hugh,  rais- 
ing his  head  to  look  at  him  with  a  savage  frown, 
"  you  '11  hold  your  tongue.  I  tell  you  1  'm  going 
to  sleep." 

Dennis  venturing  to  say  something  more  in 
spite  of  this  caution,  the  desperate  fellow  struck 
at  him  with  all  his  force,  and  missing  him,  lay 
down  again  with  many  muttered  oaths  and 
imprecations,  and  turned  his  face  towards  the 
wall.  After  two  or  three  ineffectual  twitches 
at  his  dress,  which  he  was  hardy  enoueh  to  ven- 
ture upon,  notwithstanding  his  dangerous  hu- 
inour,  Mr.  Dennis,  who  burnt,  for  reasons  of  hid 
own,  to  pursue  the  conversation,  had  no  alterna- 
tive but  to  sit  as  patiently  as  he  could,  waitin[( 
his  further  pleasure. 


294 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-FIFTH. 


A  Moi^TH  has  elappptl, — and  we  stand  in  the 
bed-chamber  of  Sir  John  Chester.  Tlirou^h  the 
half-opened  window,  the  Temple  Garden  looks 
green  and  pleasant ;  the  placid  river,  gay  with 
boat  and  bar^e,  and  dimpled  with  the  plash  of 
many  an  oar,  sparkles  in  the  distance  ;  the  sky 
is  blue  and  clear;  and  the  summer  air  steals 
gfently  in,  filling  the  room  with  perfume.  Tlie 
very  town,  the  smoky  town,  is  radiant.  High 
roofs  and  steeple  tops,  wont  to  look  black  and 
sullen,  smile  a  cheerful  grey ;  every  old  gilded 
vane,  and  ball,  and  cross,  glitters  anew  in  the 
bright  morning  sun;  and  high  among  them  all, 
Siiint  Paul's  towers  up,  showing  its  lofty  crest 
in  burnished  gold. 

Sir  Jdhn  was  breakfasting  in  bed.  His  choco- 
late and  toast  stood  upon  a  little  table  at  his 
elbow;  books  and  newspapers  lay  ready  to  his 
hand,  upon  the  coverlet;  and,  sometimes  pausing 
to  glance  with  an  air  of  tranquil  satisfaction 
round  the  well-ordered  room,  and  sometimes  to 
gaze  indolently  at  the  summer  sky,  he  ate,  and 
drank,  and  read  the  news,  luxuriously. 

The  cheerful  influence  of  the  morning  seemed 
to  have  S(!ine  effect,  even  upon  his  equable 
temper.  His  manner  was  unusually  gay;  his 
smile  more  placid  and  agreeable  than  usual; 
his  voice  more  clear  and  pleasant.  Ho  laid 
down  the  newspaper  he  had  been  reading; 
leaned  back  upon  his  pillow  with  the  air  of  one 
who  resigned  himself  to  a  train  of  charming  re- 
collections; and  after  a  pause,  soliloquized  as 
follows : 

"  And  my  friend  the  centaur,  goes  the  way 
of  his  mamma!  lam  not  surprised.  And  his 
mysterious  friend  Mr.  Dennis,  likewise  !  I  am 
not  surprised.  And  my  old  postman,  the  ex- 
ceedingly free-and-easy  young  madman  of  Chig- 
well!  I  am  quite  rejoiced.  It 's  the  very  best 
thing  that  could  possibly  happen  to  him." 

After  delivering  himself  of  these  remarks,  he 
fell  again  into  his  smiling  train  of  reflection; 
from  which  he  roused  himself  at  length  to  finish 
his  chocolate,  which  was  getting  cold,  and  ring 
the  bell  for  more. 

The  new  supply  arriving,  he  took  the  cup 
from  his  servant's  hand ;  and  saying  with  a 
charming  affability,  "  I  am  obliged  to  you,  Peak," 
dismissed  him. 

"  It  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,"  he  said, 
dallying  lazily  with  the  teaspoon,  "that  my 
friend  the  madman  should  have  been  within  an 
ace  of  escnping,  on  his  trial ;  and  it  was  a  good 
stroke  of  chance  (or,  as  tlie  v.'orld  would  say,  a 
providential  occurrence,)  that  the  brother  of  my 
Lord  INlayor  should  have  been  in  court,  with 
other  country  justices,  into  whose  very  dense 
heads  curiosity  had  penetrated.  For  though  the 
brother  of  my  Lord  Mayor  was  decidedly  wrong ; 
and  established  his  near  relatitmship  to  that 
amusing  person  beyond  all  doubt,  in  stating  that 
my  friend  was  sane,  and  had,  to  his  knowledge, 


wandered  about  the  country  with  a  vagabond 
parent,  avowing  revolutionary  and  rebellious 
sentiments;  I  am  not  the  less  obliged  to  him  foi 
volunteering  that  evidence.  These  insane  crea- 
tures make  such  very  odd  and  embairassing  re- 
marks, that  they  really  ought  to  be  hanged,  for 
the  comfort  of  society." 

The  country  justice  had  indeed  turned  the 
wavermg  scale  against  poor  Barnaby,  and  solved 
the  doubt  that  trembled  in  his  favour.  Grip 
little  thought  how  much  he  had  to  answer  for. 

"They  will  be  a  singular  party,"  said  Sir 
John,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  sipping 
his  chocolate;  "a  very  curious  party.  The 
hangman  himself;  the  centaur;  and  the  mad- 
man. The  centaur  would  make  a  very  hand- 
some preparation  in  Surgeons'  Hall,  and  would 
benefit  science  extremely.  I  hope  they  have 
taken  care  to  bespeak  him.  —  Peak,  I  am  not 
at  home,  of  course,  to  anybody  but  the  hair- 
dresser." 

This  reminder  to  his  servant  was  called  forth 
-by  a  knock  at  the  door,  which  the  man  hastened 
to  open.  After  a  prolonged  murmur  of  question 
and  answer,  he  returned;  and  as  he  cautiously 
closed  the  room-door  behind  him,  a  man  was 
heard  to  cough  in  the  passage. 

"  Now,  it  is  of  no  use,  Peak,"  said  Sir  John, 
raising  his  hand  in  deprecation  of  his  delivering 
any  message ;  "  I  am  not  at  home.  I  cannot 
possibly  hear  you.  I  told  you  I  was  not  at  home, 
and  my  word  is  sacred.  Will  you  never  do  as 
you  are  desired  ]" 

Having  nothing  to  oppose  to  this  reproof,  the 
man  was  about  to  withdraw,  when  the  visiter 
who  had  given  occasion  to  it,  probably  rendered 
impatient  by  delay,  knocked  with  his  knuckles 
at  the  chamber-door,  and  called  out  that  he  had 
urgent  business  with  Sir  John  Chester,  which 
admitted  of  no  delay. 

"  Let  him  in,"  said  Sir  John.  "  My  good  fel- 
low," he  added,  when  the  door  was  opened, 
"  how  came  you  to  intrude  yourself  in  this  ex- 
traordinary manner  upon  the  privacy  of  a  gentle- 
man ]  How  can  you  be  so  wholly  destitute  of 
self-respect  as  to  be  guilty  of  such  remarkable 
ill-breeding!" 

"  My  business,  Sir  John,  is  not  of  a  common 
kind,  I  do  assure  you,"  returned  the  person  he 
addressed.  "If  I  have  taken  any  uncommon 
course  to  get  admission  to  you,  I  hope  I  shall  be 
pardoned  on  that  account." 

"  Well !  we  shall  see ;  we  shall  see ;"  return- 
ed Sir  John,  whose  face  cleared  up  when  he  saw 
who  it  was,  and  whose  prepossessing  smile  was 
now  restored.  "  I  am  sure  we  have  met  before," 
he  added,  in  his  winning  tone,  "but  really  1  for- 
get your  name." 

"  My  name  is  Gabriel  Varden,  sir." 

"Varden,  of  course,  Varden,"  returned  Sir 
John,  tapping  his  forehead.  "Dear  me,  how 
very  defective  my  memory  becomes !     Varden 


U'd^  ^cVd/^.   oA^^^i.  it^^c yy/ Y//6/ c^iy/'7.ye/  c^a^/.t/iM  . 


/:2&A 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


295 


to  be  sure.  Mr.  Varden,  the  locksmith.  You 
have  a  cliarmino;  wife,  Mr.  Varden,  and  a  most 
beautiful  daui,'hter.     They  are  well !" 

Gabriel  thanked  him,  and  said  they  were. 

"  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,"  .said  Sir  John.  "Com- 
mend me  to  them  when  you  return,  and  say  that 
I  wished  1  were  fortunate  enough  to  convey, 
inysell,  the  salute  which  I  entrust  you  to  de- 
liver. And  what,"  he  asked  very  sweetly,  after 
a  momenfs  pause,  "can  I  do  for  you]  You 
may  command  me,  freely." 

"I  thank  you,  Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  with 
pome  priile  in  his  manner,  "but  I  have  come  to 
ask  no  favour  of  you,  though  I  come  on  busi- 
ness.— Private,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  at  the 
man  who  stood  looking  on,  "and  very  pressing 
business." 

"  I  cannot  say  you  are  the  more  welcome  for 
being  independent,  and  having  nothing  to  ask 
of  me,"  returned  Sir  John,  gracious^ly,  "  for  I 
ehould  have  been  happy  to  render  you  a  service; 
Btill,  you  are  welcome  on  any  terms.  Oblige 
me  with  some  more  chocolate,  Peak — and  don't 
wait." 

The  man  retired,  and  left  them  alone. 

"  Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  "  I  am  a  working- 
man,  and  have  been  all  my  life.  If  I  don't  pre- 
pare you  enougii  for  what  I  have  to  tell ;  if  I 
come  to  the  point  too  abruptly;  and  give  you  a 
shock,  wliich  a  gentleman  could  have  spared 
you,  o--  at  all  events  lessened  very  much,  I  hope 
you  will  give  me  credit  for  meaning  well.  I 
wish  to  be  careful  and  considerate,  and  I  trust 
that  in  a  straight-forward  person  like  me,  you  '11 
take  the  will  tor  the  deed." 

"  Mr.  Varden,"  returned  the  other,  perfectly 
composed  under  this  exordium;  "I  beg  you'll 
take  a  chair.  Chocolate,  perhaps,  you  don't 
relish  ]   Well !  it  is  an  acquired  taste,  no  doubt." 

"Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  who  had  acknow- 
ledged with  a  bow  the  invitation  to  be  seated, 
but  had  not  availed  himself  of  it ;  "  Sir  John" — 
he  dropped  his  voice  and  drew  nearer  to  the  bed 
— "  I  am  just  now  come  from  Newgate — " 

"  Good  Gad !"  cried  Sir  John,  hastily  sitting 
up  in  bed  ;  "  from  Newgate,  Mr.  Varden  !  How 
could  you  be  so  very  imprudent  as  to  come  from 
Newgate !  Newgate,  where  there  are  jail-fe- 
vers, and  ragged  people,  and  barefooted  men  and 
women,  and  a  thousand  horrors!  Peak,  brinir 
the  camphor,  quick !  Heaven  and  earth,  Mr. 
Varden,  my  dear  good  soul,  how  coidd you.  come 
from  Newgate  ]" 

Gabriel  returned  no  answer,  but  looked  on  in 
silence,  while  Peak  (who  had  entered  oppor- 
tunely with  the  hot  chocolate)  ran  to  a  drawer, 
and  returning  with  a  bottle,  sprinkled  his  mas- 
ter's dressing-gown  and  the  bedding:  and  be- 
sides moistening  the  locksmith  himself,  plenti- 
fully, described  a  circle  round  about  him  on  the 
carpet.  Vv'hen  he  had  done  this,  he  again  re- 
tired;  and  Sir  John,  reclining  in  an  easy  atti- 
tude upon  his  pillow,  once  more  turned  a  smiling 
face  towards  his  visiter. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  Mr.  Varden,  I  am 
sure,  for  being  at  first,  a  littk  sensitive  both  on 
your  account  and   my  own.     I  confess  I  was 


startled,  notwithstanding  your  delicate  prepara- 
tion. Might  1  ask  you  to  do  me  the  favour  nol 
to  approach  any  nearer  1 — You  have  really  come 
from  Newgate!" 

The  locksmith  inclined  his  head. 

"In-deed!  And  now,  Mr.  Varden,  all  exag- 
geration and  end)ellishment  apart,"  said  Sir  John 
Chester,  confidentially,  as  he  sipped  his  choc>> 
late,  "  what  kind  of  place  is  Newgate  ]" 

"A  strange  place.  Sir  John,"  returned  the 
locksmith,  "of  a  sad  and  doleful  kin;!.  A  strange 
place,  where  many  strange  things  are  heard  and 
seen;  but  few  more  strange  than  that  I  come 
to  tell  you  of.  The  case  is  urgent.  1  am  sent 
here." 

"  Not — no, — no — not  from  the  jail  ■?" 

"  Yes,  Sir  John  ;  from  the  jail." 

"And  my  good,  credulous,  open-hearted 
friend,"  said  Sir  John,  setting  down  his  cup,  and 
laughing, — "  by  whom  V 

"By  a  man  called  Dennis  —  for  many  years 
the  hangman,  and  to-morrow  morning  the 
hanged,"  returned  the  locksmith. 

Sir  John  had  expected — had  been  quite  cer- 
tain from  the  first — that  he  would  say  he  had 
come  from  Hugh,  and  was  prepared  to  meet  him 
on  that  point.  But  this  answer  occasioned  him 
a  degree  of  astonishment,  wliich  ibr  the  moment 
he  could  not,  with  all  his  command  of  featurp, 
prevent  his  face  from  expressing.  He  quickly 
subdued  it,  however,  and  said  in  the  same  light 
tone: 

"  And  what  does  the  gentleman  require  of 
mel  My  memory  may  be  at  fault  again,  but  I 
don't  recollect  that  I  ever  had  the  pleasure  of 
an  introduction  to  him,  or  that  I  ever  numbered 
him  among  my  personal  friends,  I  do  assure  you, 
Mr.  Varden." 

"  Sir  John,"  returned  the  locksmith,  gravely, 
"I  will  tell  you,  as  nearly  as  I  can,  in  the  wonl:^ 
he  used  to  me,  what  he  desires  that  yru  should 
know,  and  what  you  ought  to  know  without  a 
moment's  loss  of  time." 

Sir  John  Chester  settled  himself  in  a  position 
of  greater  repose,  and  looked  at  his  visiter  with 
an  expression  of  face  which  seemed  to  say,  "This 
is  an  amusing  fellow  !  "  I  '11  hear  him  out." 

"  You  may  have  seen  in  the  newspapers.  Sir," 
said  Gabriel,  pointing  to  the  one  which  lay  by 
his  side,  "  that  I  was  a  witness  against  this  man 
upon  his  trial  some  days  since;  and  that  it  was 
not  his  fault  I  was  alive,  and  able  to  speak  to 
what  I  knew." 

"  May  have  seen  !"  cried  Sir  John.  "  My 
dear  Mr.  Varden,  you  are  quite  a  public  charac- 
ter, and  live  in  all  men's  thoughts  most  deserv- 
edly. Nothing  can  exceed  tlie  interest  with 
which  I  read  your  testimony,  and  remem.bered 
that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  slight  acquaintance 
with  you.  I  hope  we  shall  have  your  portrait 
published?" 

"  This  morning.  Sir,"  said  the  locksmith, 
taking  no  notice  of  these  compliments,  "earl" 
this  morning,  a  message  was  brought  to  mc 
from  Newgate,  at  this  man's  request,  desiring 
that  I  would  go  and  see  him,  for  he  had  sonu*- 
thing  particular  to  communicate.     I  needn't  te! 


29G 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


vou  that  lie  is  no  friend  of  mine,  and  that  I  had 
never  seen  him,  until  the  rioters  beset  my 
house." 

Sir  John  finned  himself  gently  with  the 
newspaper,  and  nodded. 

"  I  knew,  however,  from  the  general  report," 
resumed  Gabriel,  "  that  the  order  for  his  execu- 
tion to-morrow,  went  down  to  the  prison  last 
niirht;  and  looking  upon  him  as  a  dying  man,  1 
complied  with  his^equcst." 

"You  are  quite  a  Christian,  Mr.  Varden," 
L=aid  Sir  Jolin;  "  aiid  in  that  amiable  capacity, 
yon  increase  my  dtsire  that  you  should  take  a 
chair." 

'•  He  said,"  continued  Gabriel,  looking  steadi- 
ly at  the  knight,  "that  he  had  sent  lo  me,  be- 
cause he  had  no  friend  or  companion  in  the 
whole  woild,  (being  the  common  hangman),  and 
because  he  believed,  from  the  way  in  which  I 
had  given  my  evidence,  that  I  was  an  honest 
man,  and  would  act  truly  by  him.  He  said  that, 
being  shunned  by  every  one  who  knew  his  call- 
ing, even  by  people  of  the  lowest  and  most 
wretoiicd  grade;  and  finding,  when  he  joined 
the  rioters,  that  the  men  he  acted  with  had  no 
suspicion  of  it  (which  I  believe  is  true  enough, 
for  a  poor  fool  of  an  old  'prentice  of  mine  was 
one  of  them) ;  he  had  kept  his  own  counsel,  up 
to  the  time  of  his  being  taken  and  put  in  jail." 

"  Very  discreet  of  Mr.  Dennis,"  observed  Sir 
John  with  a  slight  yawn,  though  still  vv,ith  the 
utmost  affibility,  "but — except  for  your  admir- 
able and  lucid  manner  of  telling  it,  which  is 
pel  feet — not  very  interesting  to  me." 

"When,"  pursued  the  locksmith,  quite  un- 
abashed and  wholly  regardless  of  these  inter- 
ruptions, "  when  he  was  taken  to  the  jail,  he 
found  that  his  fellow-prisoner,  in  the  same  room, 
was  a  young  man,  Hugh  by  name,  a  leader  in 
the  riots,  who  had  been  betrayed  and  given  up 
by  himself.  From  something  which  i'eW  from 
this  unhappy  creature  in  the  course  of  the  angry 
words  they  had  at  meeting,  he  discovered  that 
his  mother  had  suffered  the  death  to  which  they 
both  are  now  condemned.  —  The  time  is  very 
short.  Sir  John." 

The  knight  laid  down  his  paper  fan,  replaced 
his  cup  upon  the  table  at  his  side,  and,  saving 
for  the  smile  that  lurked  about  his  mouth,  look- 
ed at  the  locksmith  with  as  much  steadiness  as 
the  locksmith  looked  at  him. 

"  They  have  been  in  prison  now,  a  month. 
One  conversation  led  to  many  more ;  and  the 
nangman  soon  found,  from  a  comparison  of  time, 
and  place,  and  dates,  that  he  had  executed  the 
sentence  of  the  law  upon  this  woman,  himself. 
She  had  been  tempted  by  want  —  as  so  many 
people  are  —  into  the  easy  crime  of  passing 
forged  notes.  She  was  young  and  handsome; 
and  the  traders  who  employ  men,  women,  and 
children,  in  this  traffic,  looked  upon  her  as  one 
who  was  well  adapted  for  their  business,  and 
who  would  probably  go  on  without  suspicion  for 
a  long  time.  But  they  were  mistaken  ;  for  she 
was  stopped  in  the  commission  of  her  very  first 
offence,  and  died  for  it.  She  was  of  gipsy 
biood,  Sir  John — " 


It  might  have  been  the  efpjct  of  a  passing 
cloud  which  obscured  the  sun,  and  cast  a  shadow 
on  his  face;  but  the  knight  turned  deadly  pale. 
Still  he  met  the  locksmith's  eye,  as  bcfi:)re. 

"She  was  of  gipsy  blood,  Sir  John,"  repeated 
Gabriel,  "and  had  a  high,  free  spirit.  This, 
and  her  good  looks,  and  her  lofty  manner,  inte- 
rested some  gentlemen  who  were  easily  moved 
by  dark  eyes;  and  eflbrts  were  made  to  save 
her.  They  might  have  been  successful,  if  she 
would  have  given  them  any  clue  to  her  iiistory. 
But  she  never  would,  or  did.  Tiiere  was  rea- 
son to  susp^'ct  that  she  would  make  an  attempt 
upon  her  life.  A  watch  was  set  upon  her  night 
and  day ;  and  from  that  time  she  never  spoke 
again — " 

Sir  John  stretched  out  his  hand  towards  his 
cup.  The  locksmith  going  on,  arrested  it  hall- 
way. 

— "Until  she  had  but  a  minute  to  live.  Then 
she  broke  silence,  and  said,  in  a  low  firm  voic3 
which  no  one  heard  but  this  executioner,  for  all 
other  living  creatures  had  retired  and. left  her 
to  her  fate,  '  Yes,  if  I  had  a  dagger  within  these 
fingers  and  he  was  within  my  reach,  1  would 
strike  him  dead  before  me,  even  now  !'  The 
man  asked  '  Who'?'  —  she  said,  The  father  of 
her  boy." 

Sir  John  drew  back  his  outstretched  hand, 
and  seeing  that  the  locksmith  paused,  signed  to 
him  with  easy  politeness  and  without  any  new 
appearance  of  emotion,  to  proceed. 

"It  was  the  first  word  she  had  ever  spoken, 
from  which  it  could  be  understood  that  she  hari 
any  relative  on  earth.  'Was  the  child  alive!' 
he  asked.  '  Y'es.'  He  asked  her  where  it  was, 
its  name,  and  whether  she  had  any  wish  re- 
specting it.  She  had  but  one,  she  said.  It 
was  that  the  boy  might  live  and  grow,  in  utter 
ignorance  of  his  father,  so  that  no  arts  mitrht 
teach  him  to  be  gentle  and  forgiving.  When 
he  became  a  man,  she  trusted  to  the  God  of 
their  tribe  to  bring  the  father  and  the  son  to- 
gether, and  revenge  her  through  her  child.  He 
asked  her  other  questions,  but  she  spoke  no 
more.  Indeed,  he  says  she  scarcely  said  this 
much  to  him,  but  stood  with  her  face  turned  up- 
wards to  the  sky,  and  never  looked  towards  him 
once." 

Sir  John  took  a  pinch  of  snuflf;  glanced  ap- 
provingly at  an  elegant  little  sketch,  entitled 
"Nature,"  on  the  wall ;  and  raising  his  eyes  to 
the  locksmith's  face  again,  said,  with  an  air  of 
courtesy  and  patronage,  "You  were  observing, 
Mr.  Varden — " 

"That  she  never,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
who  was  not  to  be  diverted  by  any  artifice  from 
his  firm  manner,  and  his  steady  gaze,  "that  she 
never  looked  towards  him  once.  Sir  John  ;  and 
so  she  died,  and  he  forgot  her.  But,  some  years 
afterwards,  a  man  was  sentenced  to  die  the 
same  death,  who  was  a  gipsy  too;  a  sunburnt, 
swarthy  fellow,  almost  a  wild  man;  and  while 
he  lay  in  prison,  under  sentence,  he,  who  had 
seen  the  hangman  more  than  once  while  he  was 
free,  cut  an  image  of  him  on  his  stick,  by  way 
of  braving  death,  and  showing  those  who  p(- 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


297 


tended  on  him,  how  little  he  cared  or  thought 
about  it.  lie  ijave  this  stick  into  his  liands  at 
Tyburn,  and  told  him  then,  that  the  woman  I 
have  spoken  of  iiad  left  her  own  people  to  join 
a  fine  ufnntleman,  and  that,  beinfj^  deserted  by 
him,  and  cast  oft'  by  her  old  friends,  she  had 
sworn  within  her  own  proud  breast,  that  what- 
ever her  misery  miglit  be,  she  would  ask  no 
help  of  any  human  being.  He  told  him  tliat 
she  had  kept  iior  word  to  the  last;  and  that, 
meeting  even  him  in  the  streets  —  he  had  been 
tend  of  iier  once,  it  seems — she  had  slipped  from 
liim  by  a  trick,  and  he  never  saw  her  again, 
until,  being  in  one  of  the  frequent  crowds  at 
Tyburn,  with  some  of  his  rough  companions,  he 
had  been  driven  almost  mad  by  seeing,  in  the 
criminal  under  another  name,  whose  death  he 
had  come  to  witness,  herself.  Standing  in  the 
same  place  in  which  she  had  stood,  he  told  the 
hangman  this,  and  told  him,  too,  her  real  name, 
which  only  her  own  people  and  the  gentleman 
for  whose  sake  she  had  left  them,  knew. — That 
name  he  will  tell  again,  Sir  John,  to  none  but 
you." 

"  To  none  but  me !"  exclaimed  the  knight, 
pausing  in  the  act  of  raising  his  cup  to  his  lips 
with  a  perfectly  steady  hand,  and  curling  up  his 
little  finger  for  the  better  display  of  a  brilliant 
ring  with  which  it  was  ornamented:  "  but  me  ! 
— l\Iy  dear  Mr.  Varden,  how  very  preposterous, 
to  select  me  for  his  confidence  !  With  you  at 
his  elbow,  too,  who  are  so  perfectly  trustwor- 
thy." 

"  Sir  John,  Sir  John,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
"at  twelve  to-morrow,  these  men  die.  Hear 
the  few  words  I  have  to  add,  and  do  not  hope  to 
deceive  me;  for  though  I  am  a  plain  man  of 
humble  station,  and  you  are  a  gentleman  of  rank 
and  learning,  the  truth  raises  me  to  your  level, 
and  by  its  power  I  know  that  you  anticipate  the 
disclosure  with  which  I  am  about  to  end,  and 
that  you  believe  this  doomed  man,  Hugh,  to  be 
your  son." 

"Nay,"  said  Sir  John,  bantering  him  with  a 
gay  air;  "the  wild  gentleman,  who  died  so 
suddenly,  scarcely  went  as  far  as  that,  I  think]" 

"He  did  not,"  returned  the  locksmith,  "for 
she  had  bound  him  by  some  pledge,  known  only 
to  these  people,  and  which  the  worst  among 
them  respect,  not  to  tell  your  name:  but,  in  a 
fantastic  pattern  on  the  stick,  he  had  carved 
=ome  letters,  and  when  tiie  hangman  asked  it, 
♦le  bade  him,  especially  if  he  should  ever  meet 
with  her  son  in  after  life,  remember  that  place 
ft-ell." 

"  What  place  1" 

"  Chester." 

The  knight  finished  his  cup  of  chocolate  with 
an  appearance  of  infinite  relish,  and  carefully 
wiped  his  lips  upon  his  handkerchief. 

"  Sir  John,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  this  is  all 
that  has  been  told  to  me;  but  since  these  two 
men  have  been  left  for  death,  they  have  con- 
ferred together,  closely.  See  them,  and  hear 
whst  ;hey  can  add.     See  this  Dennis,  and  learn 


from  him  what  he  has  not  trusted  to  me.  If  you, 
who  hold  the  clue  to  all,  want  corroboration, 
(which  you  do  not,)  the  means  arc  ea.sy." 

"And  to  what,"  said  Sir  John  Chester,  rising 
on  his  elbow,  after  smoothing  the  pillow  fur  it-s 
reception;  "my  dear,  good-natured,  estimable 
Mr.  Varden — with  whom  1  cannot  be  angry  if  I 
would — to  what  does  all  this  tend  ?" 

"  I  take  you  for  a  man.  Sir  John,  and  I  sup- 
pose to  some  pleading  of  natural  afi'ection  in  your 
breast,"  returned  the  locksmith  indignantly.  "I 
suppose  to  the  straiiiing  of  every  nerve,  and  the 
exertion  of  all  the  inliuence  you  iiave,  or  can 
make,  in  behalf  of  your  miserable  son,  and  the 
man  who  has  disclosed  his  existence  to  you.  At 
the  worst,  I  suppose  to  your  seeing  your  son, 
and  awakening  him  to  a  sense  of  his  crime  and 
danger.  He  has  no  such  sense  now.  Think 
what  his  life  must  have  been,  when  he  said  in 
my  hearing,  that  if  1  moved  you  to  anything,  it 
would  be  to  hastening  his  death,  and  ensuring 
his  silence,  if  you  had  it  in  your  power  !" 

"  And  have  you,  my  good  Mr.  Varden,"  said 
Sir  John,  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproof,  "  have  you 
really  lived  to  your  present  age,  and  remained 
so  very  simple  and  credulous,  as  to  approach  a 
gentleman  of  established  character  with  such 
credentials  as  these,  from  desperate  men  in  theit 
last  extremity,  catching  at  any  straw  !  Oh  dear  ! 
Oh  fie,  fie !" 

The  locksmith  was  going  to  Interpose,  but  he 
stopped  him: 

"On  any  other  subject,  Mr.  Varden,  I  shall 
be  delighted — I  shall  be  charmed — to  converse 
with  you,  but  I  owe  it  to  my  own  character  not 
to  pursue  this  topic  for  another  moment." 

"  Think  better  of  it,  sir,  when  I  am  gone,"  re- 
turned the  locksmith;  "think  better  of  it,  sir. 
Although  you  have,  thrice  within  as  many 
weeks,  turned  your  lawful  son,  Mr.  Edward, 
from  your  door ;  you  may  have  time,  you  may 
have  years,  to  make  your  peace  with  him,  Sir 
John  :  but  that  twelve  o'clock  will  soon  be  here, 
and  soon  be  past  for  ever." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  returned  the 
knight,  kissing  his  delicate  hand  to  the  lock- 
smith, "  tor  your  guileless  advice  ;  and  I  only 
wish,  my  good  soul,  although  your  simplicity  is 
quite  captivating,  that  you  had  a  little  more 
worldly  wisdom.  I  never  so  much  regretted  the 
arrival  of  my  hair-dresser  as  1  do  at  this  mo- 
ment. God  bless  you  !  Good  morning  !  You'll 
not  forgpt  my  message  to  the  ladies,  !Mr.  Var- 
den]    Peak,  show  Mr.  Varden  to  the  door." 

Gabriel  said  no  more,  but  gave  the  knight  a 
parting  look,  and  left  him.  As  he  quitted  the 
room.  Sir  John's  face  changed ;  and  the  smile 
gave  place  to  a  hasigard  and  anxious  expression, 
like  that  of  a  weary  actor  jaded  by  the  perform- 
ance of  a  difficult  part,  lie  rose  from  his  bed 
with  a  heavy  sigh,  and  wrapped  himself  in  his 
morning-gown. 

"  So,  she  kept  her  word,"  he  said,  "  and  was 
constant  to  her  threat!  I  would  I  had  never 
seen  that  dark  face  of  hers, — I  might  have  read 
these  consequences  in  it,  from  the  first.     This 


298 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


affair  wc/iild  make  a  noise  abroad,  if  it  rested  on 
better  eviiience  ;  but  as  it  is,  and  by  not  joining 
the  scattered  links  of  the  chain,  1  Ciin  atlbrd  to 
s^lightit. — Extremely  distressing-,  to  be  the  parent 
of  such  an  uncouth  creature  !  Still,  1  gave  him 
very  gf)(>d  advice:  1  told  him  he  would  cer- 
tainly lie  haniTd  ;  I  could  have  done  no  more 
if  1  had  known  of  our  relationship  ;  and  there 
are  a  gieat  many  fathers  who  have  never  done 


as  much  for  their  natural  children. — The  hair- 
dresser may  come  in,  Peak  !" 

The  hair-dresser  came  in  ;  and  saw  in  Sir 
John  Chester,  (whose  accommodating  conscience 
was  soon  quieted  by  the  numerous  precedents 
that  occurred  to  him  in  support  of  his  last  ob- 
servation,) the  same  imperturbable,  fascinating, 
elegant  gentleman  he  had  seen  yesterday,  and 
many  yesterdays  before. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-SIXTH. 


As  the  locksmith  walked  slowly  away  from 
Sir  John  Chester's  chambers,  he  lingered  under 
the  trees  which  shaded  the  path,  almost  hoping 
that  he  might  be  summoned  to  return.  He  had 
turned  back  thrice,  and  still  loitered  at  the  cor- 
ner when  the  clocks  .struck  twelve. 

It  was  a  solemn  sound,  and  not  merely  for  its 
reference  to  to-morrow  ;  for  he  knew  that  in  that 
chime  tlie  murderer's  knell  was  rung.  He  had 
seen  him  pass  along  the  cro.wded  street,  amidst 
the  execrations  of  the  throng:  had  marked  his 
quivering  lip,  and  trembling  limbs;  the  ashy 
hue  upon  his  face,  his  clammy  brow,  the  wild 
distraction  of  his  eye  —  the  fear  of  death  that 
swallowed  up  all  other  thoughts,  and  gnawed 
without  cessation  at  his  heart  and  brain.  He 
had  marked  the  wandering  look,  seeking  for 
hope,  and  finding,  turn  where  it  would,  despair. 
He  had  seen  tiie  remorseful,  pitiful,  desolate 
creature,  riding,  with  his  cotTin  by  his  side,  to 
the  gibbet.  He  knew  that  to  the  last  he  had 
been  an  unyielding,  obdurate  man;  that  in  the 
savage  terror  of  his  condition  he  had  hardened, 
rather  than  relented,  to  his  wife  and  child  ;  and 
that  the  la^t  words  which  had  passed  his  white 
lips  were  curses  on  them  as  his  foes. 

Mr.  Haredale  had  determined  to  be  there, 
and  see  it  done.  Nothing  but  the  evidence  of 
his  own  senses  could  satisfy  that  gloomy  thirst 
for  retribution  which  had  been  gathering  upon 
him  for  so  many  years.  The  locksmith  knew 
this,  and  when  the  chimes  had  ceased  to  vibrate, 
hurried  away  to  meet  him, 

"  For  these  two  men,"  he  said  as  he  went,  "  I 
can  do  no  more.  Heaven  have  mercy  on  them  ! 
— Alas!  I  say  I  can  do  no  more  for  them,  but 
whom  can  1  help!  Mary  Rudge  will  have  a 
home,  and  a  firm  friend  when  she  most  wants 
one;  but  Barnaby — poor  Barnaby — willing  Bar- 
naby — what  aid  can  1  render  him'?  There  are 
many,  many  men  of  sense,  God  forgive  me," 
cried  the  honest  locksmith,  stopping  in  a  narrow 
court  to  pass  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  1  could 
better  afford  to  lose  than  Barnaby.  We  have 
always  been  good  friends,  but  I  never  knew,  till 
now,  how  much  I  loved  the  lad." 

There  were  not  many  in  the  great  city  who 
thought  of  Barnaby  that  day,  otherwise  than  as 
an  actor  in  a  show  which  was  to  take  place  to- 
Biorrow.     But  if  the  whole  population  had  had 


him  in  their  minds,  and  had  wished  his  life  to  be 
spared,  not  one  among  them  could  have  done  so 
with  a  purer  zeal  or  greater  singleness  of  heart 
than  the  good  locksmith. 

Barnaby  was  to  die.  There  was  no  hope.  It 
is  not  the  least  evil  attendant  upon  the  frequent 
exhibition  of  this  last  dread  punishment,  of 
Death,  that  it  hardens  the  minds  of  tho>e  who  deal 
it  out,  and  makes  them,  though  they  be  amiable 
men  in  other  respects,  indiflirent  to,  or  uncon- 
scious of,  their  great  responsibility.  The  word 
had  gone  forth  that  Barnaby  was  to  die.  It 
went  forth  every  month,  for  lighter  crimes.  It 
w-as  a  thing  so  common,  that  very  few  were 
startled  by  the  awful  sentence,  or  cared  to 
question  its  propriety.  Just  then,  too,  when  the 
law  had  been  so  flagrantly  outraged,  its  dignity 
must  be  asserted.  The  symbol  of  its  dignity,— 
stamped  upon  every  page  of  the  criminal  statute- 
book, — was  the  gallows ;  and  Barnaby  was  to 
die. 

They  had  tried  to  save  him.  The  locksmith 
had  carried  petitions  and  memorials  to  the  foun- 
tain-head with  his  own  hands.  But  the  well  was 
not  one  of  mercy,  and  Barnaby  was  to  die. 

From  the  first  She  had  never  left  him,  save 
at  night,  and  with  her  beside  him,  he  was  as 
usual  contented.  On  this  last  day,  he  was  more 
elated  and  more  proud  than  he  had  been  yet; 
and  when  she  dropped  the  book  she  had  been 
reading  to  him  aloud,  and  fell  upon  his  neck,  he 
stopped  in  his  busy  task  of  folding  a  piece  of 
crape  about  his  haf,  and  wondered  at  her  an- 
guish. Grip  uttered  a  feeble  croak,  half  in  en- 
couragement, it  seemed,  and  half  remonstrance, 
but  he  wanted  heart  to  sustain  it,  and  lapsed  ab- 
ruptly into  silence. 

With  them,  who  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the 
great  gulf  which  none  can  see  beyond,  Time,  so 
soon  to  lose  itself  in  vast  Eternity,  rolled  on  like 
a  mighty  river,  swoln  and  rapid  as  it  nears  the 
sea.  It  was  morning  but  now ;  they  had  sat 
and  talkfd  together  in  a  dream;  and  here  was 
evening.  The  dreadful  hour  of  separation,  which 
even  yesterday,  had  seemed  so  distant,  was  at 
hand. 

They  walked  out  into  the  court-yard,  clinging 
to  each  other,  but  not  speaking.  Barnaby  knew 
that  the  jail  was  a  dull,  sad,  miserable  place,  and 
looked  forward  to  to-morrow,  as  to  a  passage 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


2!i9 


from  it  to  somothinjr  brifrht  and  beautiful.  lie  I 
had  a  vasjue  impression,  too,  that  lie  was  expect- 1 
ed  to  be  brave — that  he  was  a  man  of  f^reat  con-  l 
sequence,  and  that  the  prison  people  would  be  ; 
glad  to  make  him  weep:  he  trod  the  cfround  I 
more  firmly  as  he  thouirht  of  this,  and  bade  her  I 
take  heart  and  cry  no  more,  and  feel  how  steady  ' 
his  hand  was.  "They  call  me  silly,  mother. 
They  shall  see — to-morrow  !" 

Dennis  and  Huii-h  were  in  the  court-yard. 
Huirh  came  forth  from  his  cell  as  they  did, 
stretching  himself  as  though  he  had  been  sleep- 
ing. Dennis  sat  upon  a  bench  in  a  corner,  with 
his  knees  and  chin  huddled  together,  and  rock- 
ed himself  to  and  fro  like  a  person  in  severe 
pain. 

The  mother  and  son  remained  on  one  side  of 
the  court,  and  these  two  men  upon  tiie  other. 
Hugh  strode  np  and  down,  glancing  fiercely 
every  now  and  then  at  the  bright  summer  sky, 
and  looking  round,  when  he  had  done  so,  at  the 
walls. 

"No  reprieve,  no  reprieve!  Nobody  comes 
near  us.  There's  only  the  night  left  now!'* 
moaned  Df^nnis  faintly,  as  he  wrung  his  hands. 
"  Do  you  think  they  '11  reprieve  me  in  the  night, 
brother]  I've  known  reprieves  come  in  the 
night,  afore  now.  I  'vo  known  'em  come  as 
late  as  five,  six,  and  seven  o'clock,  in  the  morn- 
ing. Don't  you  think  there's  a  good  chance 
yet,  —  don't  you?  Say  you  do.  Say  you  do, 
young  man,"  whined  the  miserable  creature, 
vrith  an  imploring  gesture  towards  Barnaby, 
"or  I  shall  go  mad  !" 

"  Better  be  mad  than  sane,  here,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Go  mad." 

"But  tell  me  what  you  think.  Somebndy 
tell  me  what  he  thinks!"  cried  the, wretched 
object, — so  mean,  and  wretched,  and  despicable, 
that  even  Pity's  self  might  have  turned  away 
at  sight  of  such  a  being  in  the  likeness  of  a  man 
—  "  isn't  there  a  chance  for  me,  —  isn't  there  a 
good  chance  for  mel  Isn't  it  likely  they  may 
be  doing  this  to  frighten  me  ?  Don't  you  think 
it  is?  Oh  !"  he  almost  shrieked,  as  he  wrung 
his  hands,  "  won't  anybody  give  me  comfort!" 

"  You  ounflit  to  be  the  best,  instead  of  the 
worst,"  said  Hugh,  stopping  before  him.  "Ha, 
ha,  ha !  Sje  the  hangman,  when  it  comes  home 
to  him  !" 

"  You  don't  know  what  it  is,"  cried  Dennis, 
actually  writhinij  as  he  spoke:  "I  do.  That  I 
should  come  to  be  worked  off!  I !  I !  That  / 
should  come  !" 

"And  why  not?"  said  Hugh,  as  he  thrust 
back  his  matted  hair  to  get  a  bettor  view  of  his 
late  associate.  "  How  often,  before  I  know  your 
trade,  did  I  hear  you  talking  of  this  as  if  it  was 
a  treat?" 

"  I  an't  unconsistent,"  screamed  the  miser- 
able creature,  "  1  'd  talk  so  again,  if  I  was  hang- 
man. Some  other  man  has  got  my  old  opinions 
at  this  minute.  That  makes  it  worse.  Some- 
body 's  longing:  to  work  me  off.  I  know  by  my- 
self that  somebody  must  be  !" 

"  He  '11  soon  have  his  longing,"  said  Hugh,  re- 
suming his  walk.  "  Think  of  that,  and  be  quiet." 


Although  on','  of  these  men  displayed,  in  his 
speech  and  befiring,  the  most  reckless  hardi- 
hood ;  and  the  Oihcr,  in  his  every  word  and  ac- 
tion, testified  such  an  extreme  of  abject  cowar- 
dice that  it  was  humiliating  to  see  him  ;  it 
would  be  difficult  to  say  which  of  them  would 
most  have  repelled  and  shocked  an  observer. 
Hugh's  was  the  dogged  desperation  of  a  savage 
at  the  stake;  the  hangman  was  reduced  to  a 
condition  little  better,  if  any,  than  that  of  a 
hound  with  the  halter  round  his  neck.  Yet,  as 
Mr.  Dennis  knew  and  could  have  told  them, 
these  were  the  two  commonest  states  of  mind 
in  persons  brought  to  their  pass.  Such  was 
the  wholesome  growth  of  the  seed  sown  by  the 
law,  that  this  kind  of  harvest  was  usually  look- 
ed for,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

In  one  respect  they  all  agreed.  The  wander- 
ing and  uncontrollable  train  of  thought,  sug- 
gesting sudden  recollections  of  things  distant 
and  long  forgotten  and  remote  from  each  other 
— the  vague  restless  craving  for  something  un- 
defined, which  nothing  could  satisfy — the  swift 
flight  of  the  minutes,  fusing  themselves  into 
hours,  as  if  by  enchantment — the  rapid  coming 
of  the  solemn  night  —  the  shadow  of  death  al- 
ways upon  them,  and  yet  so  dim  and  faint,  that 
objects  the  meanest  and  most  trivial  started 
from  the  gloom  beyond,  and  forced  themselves 
upon  the  view — the  impossibility  of  holding  the 
mind,  even  if  they  had  been  so  disposed,  to 
penitence  and  preparation,  or  of  keeping  it  to 
any  point  while  that  hideous  fascinativ'jn  tempt- 
ed it  away — these  things  were  common  to  them 
all,  and  varied  only  in  their  outward  tokens. 

"  Fetch  me  the  book  I  left  within — upon  your 
bed,"  she  said  to  Barnaby,  as  the  clock  struck. 
"  Kiss  me  first !" 

He  looked  in  her  face,  and  saw  there,  that 
the  time  was  come.  After  a  long  emorace,  he 
tore  himself  away,  and  ran  to  bring  it  to  her; 
bidding  her  not  stir  till  he  came  back.  He  soon 
returned,  for  a  shriek  recalled  him,  —  but  she 
was  gone. 

He  ran  to  the  yard  gate,  and  looked  through. 
They  were  carrying  her  away.  She  had  said 
her  heart  would  break.     It  was  better  so. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  whimpered  Dennis,  creep- 
ing up  to  him,  as  he  stood  with  his  feet  rooted 
to  the  ground,  gazing  at  the  blank  walls  — 
"don't  you  think  there's  still  a  chance?  It's 
a  dreadful  end;  it's  a  terrible  end  for  a  man 
like  me.  Don't  you  think  there's  a  chance?  I 
don't  mean  for  you,  I  mean  for  me.  Don't  let 
him  hear  us;  (meaning  Hugh)  he's  so  desper- 
ate." 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  officer,  who  had  been 
lounging  in  and  out  with  his  hands  in  his  pock 
ets,  and  yawning  as  if  he  were  in  the  last  ex 
tremity  for  some  subject  of  interest:  "  it's  timt 
to  turn  in,  boys." 

"  Not^yet,"  cried  Dennis,  "  not  yet.  Not  foi 
an  hour  yet." 

"  I  say, — your  watch  goes  different  from  wtir;^ 
it  used  to,"'  returned  the  man,  "  Once  upon  a 
time  it  was  always  too  fast.  It's  got  the  other 
fault  now." 


300 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


"  My  friend,"  cried  tlie  wretched  creature, 
fulling-  on  his  iinees,  "  my  dear  friend — you  al- 
ways were  my  dear  friend  —  there  's  some  mis- 
take. Some  letter  lias  been  mislaid,  or  some 
iTiessenfrer  lias  been  stopped  upon  the  way.  He 
may  have  fallen  dead.  I  saw  a  man  once,  fall 
down  dead  in  the  street,  myself,  and  he  had 
papers  in  his  pocket.  Send  to  enquire.  Let 
somebody  go  to  enquire.  They  never  will  hang 
tne.  Tliey  never  can. — Yes,  they  will,"  he 
cried,  stnrtinfr  to  his  feet  with  a  terrible  scream. 
"  They  '11  hang  me  by  a  trick,  and  keep  the 
pardon  back.  It's  a  plot  against  me.  I  shall 
lose  my  life!"  And  uttering  another  yell,  he 
fell  in  a  tit  upon  the  ground. 

"  See  the  hangman  when  it  comes  home  to 
him  !"  cried  Hugh  again,  as  they  bore  him  away. 


— "Ha  ha  ha!  Courage,  bold  Barnaby,  what 
care  we]  Your  hand  !  They  do  well  to  put  ua 
out  of  the  world,  for  if  we  got  loose  a  second 
time,  we  wouldn't  let  them  off  so  easy,  eh  ]  An- 
other shake  !  A  man  can  die  but  once.  If  you 
wake  in  the  night,  sing  that  out  lustily,  and  fall 
asleep  again.     Ha  ha  ha!" 

Barnaby  glanced  once  more  through  the  grate 
into  the  empty  yard  ;  watched  Hugh  as  he  strode 
to  the  steps  leading  to  his  sleeping-cell,  and  then 
heard  him  shout,  and  burst  into  a  roar  of  laugh- 
ter, and  saw  him  flourish  his  hat.  Then  he 
turned  away  himself,  like  one  who  walked  in 
his  sleep  ;  and  without  any  sense  of  fear  or  sor- 
row, lay  down  on  his  pallet,  listening  for  the 
clock  to  strike  again. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-SEVENTH. 


The  time  wore  on:  the  noises  in  the  streets 
became  less  frequent  by  degrees,  until  silence 
was  scarcely  broken  save  by  the  bells  in  church 
towers,  marking  the  progress — softer  and  more 
stealthy  while  the  city  slumbered — of  that  Great 
Watcher  with  the  hoary  head,  whenever  sleeps 
or  rests.  In  the  uiief  interval  of  darkness  and 
repose  which  feverish  towns  enjoy,  all  busy 
sounds  were  hushed;  and  those  who  awoke 
from  dreams  lay  listening  in  their  beds,  and 
longed  for  dawn,  and  wished  the  dead  of  the 
night  were  past. 

Into  the  street  outside  the  jail's  main  wall, 
workmen  came  straggling  at  this  solemn  hour, 
in  groups  of  two  or  three,  and  meeting  in  the 
centre  ceist  their  tools  upon  the  ground  and 
spoke  in  whispers.  Others  soon  issued  from 
the  jail  itself,  bearingon  their  shoulders,  planks, 
and  beams:  these  materials  being  all  brought 
forth,  the  rest  bestirred  themselves,  and  the  dull 
sound  of  hammers  began  to  echo  through  the 
stillness. 

Here  and  there-among  this  knot  of  labourers, 
one,  with  a  lantern  or  a  smoky  link,  stood  by  to 
light  his  fellows  at  their  work,  and  by  its  doubt- 
ful aid,  some  might  be  dimly  seen  taking  up  the 
pavement  of  the  road,  while  others  held  great 
upright  posts,  or  fixed  them  in  the  holes  thus 
made  for  their  reception.  Some  dragged  slowly 
on  towards  the  rest,  an  empty  cart,  which  they 
brought  rumbling  from  the  prison-yard;  while 
others  erected  strong  barriers  across  the  street. 
All  were  busily  engaged.  Their  dusl»y  figures 
moving  to  and  fro,  at  that  unusual  hour,  so 
active  and  so  silent,  might  have  been  taken  for 
those  of  shadowy  creatures  toiling  at  midnight 
on  some  ghostly  unsubstantial  work,  which, 
/ike  themselves,  would  vanish  with   the  first 


gleam  of  day,  and  leave  but  morning  mist  and 
vapour. 

While  it  was  yet  dark,  a  few  lookers-on  col- 
lected, who  had  plainly  come  there  for  the  pur- 
pose and  intended  to  remain :  even  those  who 
had  to  pass  the  spot  on  their  way  to  some  other 
place,  lingered,  and  lingered  yet,  as  though  the 
attraction  of  that  were  irresistible.  Meanwhile 
the  noise  of  saw  and  mallet  went  on  briskly, 
mingled  with  the  clattering  of  boards  on  the 
stone  pavement  of  the  road,  and  sometimes  with 
the  workmen's  voices  as  they  called  to  one  an- 
other. Whenever  the  chimes  of  the  neighbour- 
ing church  were  heard  —  and  that  was  every 
quarter  of  an  hour — a  strange  sensation,  instan- 
taneous and  indescribable,  but  perfectly  obvious, 
seemed  to  pervade  them  all. 

Gradually,  a  faint  brightness  appeared  in  the 
east,  and  the  air,  which  had  been  very  warm  all 
through  the  night,  felt  cool  and  chilly.  Though 
there  was  no  daylight  yet,  the  darkness  was 
diminished,  and  the  stars  looked  pale.  The 
prison,  which  had  been  a  mere  black  mass  with 
little  shape  or  form,  put  on  its  usual  aspect; 
and  ever  and  anon  a  solitary  watchman  could  be 
seen  upon  its  roof,  stopping  to  look  down  upon 
the  preparations  in  the  street.  This  man,  from 
forming,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  the  jail,  and  know- 
ing or  being  supposed  to  know  all  that  was 
passing  within,  became  an  object  of  as  much 
interest,  and  was  as  eagerly  looked  for,  and  as 
awfully  pointed  out,  as  if  he  had  been  a  spirit. 

By  and  bye,  the  feeble  light  grew  strongei, 
and  the  houses  with  their  sign-boards  and  in- 
scriptions stood  plainly  out,  in  the  dull  grey 
morning.  Heavy  stage  wagons  trawled  from 
the  Inn-yard  opposite;  and  travellers  peeped 
out;  and  us  tlity  rolled  sluggishly  away,  cast 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


301 


many  a  baclvward  look  towai  Is  the  jail.  And 
now  the  sun's  first  beams  came  glanciiitr  into 
the  street;  and  the  nlirht's  work,  which,  in  its 
various  stages  and  in  the  varied  fancies  of  the 
lookers-on  had  taken  a  hundred  shapes,  wore 
lis  own  proper  form  —  a  scatTuld,  and  a  gibbet. 

As  the  warmth  of  clieerful  day  began  to  shed 
itself  upon  the  scanty  crowd,  the  murmur  of 
tongues  was  heard,  shutters  were  thrown  open, 
and  blinds  drawn  up,  and  those  who  had  slept 
ill  rooms  over  against  the  prison,  where  places 
to  see  tlie  execution  were  let  at  high  prices,  rose 
hastily  from  their  beds.  In  some  of  the  houses 
people  were  busy  taking  out  the  window-sashes 
for  the  better  accommodation  of  spectators  ;  in 
others  the  spectators  were  already  seated,  and 
beguiling  the  time  with  cards,  or  drink,  or  jokes 
among  themselves.  Some  had  purchased  seats 
upon  the  house-tops,  and  were  already  crawling 
to  their  stations  from  parapet  and  garret-win- 
dow. Some  were  yet  bargaining  for  good 
places,  and  stood  in  them  in  a  state  of  indeci- 
sion: gazing  at  the  slowly-swelling  crowd,  and 
at  the  workmen  as  they  rested  listlessly  against 
the  scaffold  ;  and  atTecting  to  listen  with  indif- 
ference to  the  proprietor's  eulogy  of  the  com- 
manding view  his  house  afforded,  and  the  sur- 
passing cheapness  of  his  terms. 

A  fairer  morning  never  shone.  From  the 
Tcofs  and  upper  stories  of  these  buildings,  the 
spires  of  city  churches  and  tiie  great  cathedral 
dane  were  visible,  rising  up  beyond  the  prison, 
into  the  blue  sky;  clad  in  tiie  colour  of  light 
summer-clouds,  and  showing  in  the  clear  at- 
mosphere their  every  scrap  of  tracery  and  fret- 
work, and  every  niclie  and  loophole.  All  was 
brightness  and  promise,  excepting  in  the  street 
below,  into  which  (for  it  yet  lay  in  shadow) 
the  eye  looked  down  as  into  a  dark  trench, 
where,  in  the  midst  of  so  much  life,  and  hope, 
and  renewal  of  existence,  stood  the  terrible  in- 
strument of  death.  It  seemed  as  if  the  very 
sun  forbore  to  look  upon  it. 

But  it  was  belter,  grim  and  sombre  in  the 
shade,  than  when,  the  day  being  more  advanced, 
it  stood  confessed  in  tiie  full  glare  and  glory  of 
the  sun,  with  its  black  paint  blistering,  and  its 
nooses  dangling  in  the  light  like  loathsome  gar- 
lands. It  was  better  in  the  solitude  and  gloom 
of  midnight  with  a  few  forms  clustering  about 
it,  than  in  the  fresiiness  and  the  stir  of  morn- 
ing :  the  centre  of  an  eager  crowd.  It  was 
better  haunting  the  street  like  a  spectre,  when 
men  were  in  their  beds;  and  influencing  per- 
chance the  City's  dreams;  than  braving  the 
broad  day,  and  thrusting  its  obscene  presence 
upon  their  waking  senses. 

Five  o'clock  had  struck  —  six  —  seven  —  and 
eight.  Along  the  two  main  streets  at  either 
end  of  the  cross-way,  a  living  stream  had  now 
set  in  :  rolling  towards  the  marts  of  gain  and 
business.  Carts,  coaches,  wagons,  trucks,  and 
barrows,  forced  a  passage  through  the  outskirts 
fif  the  thronn-,  and  clattered  onward  in  the  same 
direction.  Some  of  these  which  were  public 
rcnveyancesand  had  come  from  a  shortdistance 
In  the  country,  stopped  ;  and  the  driver  pointed 


to  the  gibbet  with  bis  whip,  though  he  might 
have  spared  himself  the  pains,  for  the  heads  0/ 
all  the  passengers  were  turned  that  way  with- 
out his  help,  and  the  coach  windows  were  stuck 
full  of  staring  eyes.  In  some  of  the  carts  and 
wagons,  women  might  be  seen  glancing  fear- 
fully at  the  same  unsightly  thing;  and  even 
little  children  were  held  up  above  the  people's 
heads  to  see  what  kind  of  toy  a  gallows  was, 
and  learn  liow  men  were  hanged. 

Two  rioters  were  to  die  before  the  prison, 
who  had  been  concerned  in  the  attack  upon  it; 
and  one  directly  afterwards  in  Bloomsbury 
Square.  At  nine  o'clock,  a  strong  body  of  mili- 
tary marched  into  the  street,  and  formed  and 
lined  a  narrow  passage  into  Holborn,  which 
had  been  indifferently  kept  all  night  by  con- 
stables. Through  this,  another  cart  was  brought 
(the  one  already  mentioned  had  been  employed 
in  the  construction  of  the  scaffold),  and  wheeled 
up  to  the  prison  gate.  These  preparations 
made,  the  soldiers  stood  at  ease;  the  officers 
lounged  to  and  fro,  in  the  alley  they  had  made, 
or  talked  togetherat  the  scaffold's  foot;  and  the 
concourse,  which  had  been  rapidly  augmenting 
for  some  hours,  and  still  received  additions 
every  minute,  waited  with  an  impatience  which 
increased  with  every  chime  of  St.  Sepulchre's 
clock,  for  twelve  at  noon. 

Up  to  this  time  they  had  been  very  quiet, 
comparatively  silent,  save  when  the  arrival  of 
some  new  party  at  a  window,  hitherto  unoccu- 
pied, gave  them  something  new  to  look  at  or  to 
talk  of.  But  as  the  hour  approached,  a  buzz 
and  hum  arose,  which,  deepening  every  mo- 
ment, soon  swelled  into  a  roar,  and  seemed  to 
fill  the  air.  No  words  or  even  voices  could  bs 
distinguished  in  this  clamour,  nor  did  they  speak 
much  to  each  other;  though  such  as  were  bet- 
ter informed  upon  the  topic  than  the  rest,  would 
tell  their  neighbours,  perhaps,  that  they  might 
know  the  hangman  when  he  came  out,  by  his 
being  the  shorter  one  :  and  that  the  man  who 
was  to  suffer  with  him  was  named  Hugh  :  and 
that  it  was  Barnaby  Rudge  w^ho  would  be 
hanged  in  Bloomsbury  Square.  As  it  is  the 
nature  of  men  in  a  great  heat  to  perspire  spon- 
taneously, so  this  wild  murmur,  floating  unand 
down,  seemed  born  of  their  intense  impatience, 
and  quite  beyond  their  restraint  or  control. 

It  grew,  as  the  time  drew  near,  so  loud,  that 
those  who  were  at  the  windows  could  not  hear 
the  church-clock  strike,  though  it  was  close  at 
hand.  Nor  had  they  any  need  to  hear  it,  either, 
for  they  could  see  it  in  the  people's  faces.  So 
surely  as  another  quarter  chimed,  there  was  a 
movement  in  the  crowd  —  as  if  something  bad 
passed  over  it  —  as  if  the  light  upon  them  had 
been  changed  — in  which  the  fact  was  readablo 
as  on  a  brazen  dial,  figured  by  a  giant's  hand. 

Three  quarters  past  eleven  I  The  murmui 
now  was  deafening,  yet  every  man  seemed 
mute.  Look  where  you  would  among  thu 
crowd,  you  saw  strained  eyes  and  lips  com- 
pressed; it  would  have  been  diflicult  for  the 
most  vigilant  observer  to  ooint  this  way  or  that, 
and  say  that  yonder  mannaa  cried  out :  it  wero 


S02 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


as  easy  to  detect  the  motion  of  lips  in  a  sea- 

6llP.ll. 

Three-quarters  past  eleven  !  Many  specta- 
tors who  had  retired  from  the  windows,  came 
hack  refreshed,  as  thoug^h  their  watch  had  just 
hegun.  Those  who  had  fallen  asleep  roused 
themselves;  and  every  person  in  the  crowd 
made  one  last  effort  to  hetier  his  position — which 
caused  a  press  against  the  sturdy  harriers  that 
made  them  bend  and  yield  like  twigs.  The 
officers,  who  until  now  had  kept  together,  fell 
into  their  several  positions,  and  gave  the  words 
of  command.  Swords  were  drawn,  muskets 
shouldered,  and  tiie  bright  steel  winding  its 
way  among  the  crowd,  gleamed  and  glittered 
in  the  sun  like  a  river.  Along  this  shining 
]iath  two  men  came  hurrying  on,  leading  a 
horse,  which  was  speedily  harnessed  to  tlie 
cart  at  the  prison  door.  Then  a  profound  si- 
lence replaced  the  tumult  tliat  had  so  long  been 
gatliering,  and  a  brealiiless  pause  ensued. 
Every  window  was  now  choked  up  with 
heads;  the  house-tops  teemed  with  people  — 
clinging  to  chimneys,  peering  over  gable-ends, 
and  holding  on  where  the  sudden  loosening  of 
any  brick  or  stone  would  dash  them  down  into 
the  street.  The  church-tower,  the  church-roof, 
the  church-yard,  the  prison  leads,  the  very  wa- 
ter-spouts and  lamp-posts — every  inch  of  room 
— swarmed  with  human  life. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  twelve  the  prison  bell 
began  to  toll.  Then  the  roar  —  mingled  now 
with  cries  of  "  Hats  off!"  and  "  Poor  fellows  !" 
and,  from  some  specks  in  the  great  concourse, 
with  a  shriek  or  groan  —  burst  forth  again.  It 
was  terrible  to  see — if  any  one  in  that  distrac- 
tion of  excitement  could  have  seen — the  world 
of  eager  eyes,  all  strained  upon  the  scaffold 
and  the  beam. 

The  hollow  murmuring  was  heard  within  the 
jail  as  plainly  as  without.  The  three  were 
brought  forth  into  the  yard,  together,  as  it  re- 
sounded through  the  air:  and  knew  its  import 
Avell. 

"  D'ye  hearl"  cried  Hugh,  undaunted  by  the 
sound.  "  They  expect  us  I  1  heard  them  ga- 
thering when  I  woke  in  tlie  night,  and  turned 
over  on  t'other  side  and  fell  asleep  again.  We 
shall  see  how  they  welcome  the  hangman,  now 
that  it  connes  home  to  him.     Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

The  ordinary  coming  up  at  this  moment,  re- 
proved him  for  his  indecent  mirth,  and  advised 
him  to  alter  his  demeanour. 

"And  why,  master?"  said  Hugh.  "  Can  I 
do  better  than  bear  it  easily  ■?  Yau  bear  it  easily 
enough.  Oh  !  never  tell  me,"  he  cried,  as  the 
other  would  have  spoken,  "  for  all  your  sad 
Idok  and  your  solemn  air,  you  think  little  enough 
of  it !  ^l^itey  say  you  're  tlie  best  maker  of  lob- 
ster salads  in  London.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  1  've  heard 
that,  you  see,  before  now.  Is  it  a  good  one, 
this  morning — is  your  hand  in  1  How  does  the 
breakfast  look?  I  hope  there's  enough,  and 
to  spare,  for  all  the  hungry  company  that'll  sit 
down  to  it,  when  the  sight's  over." 

"I  fear,"  observed  the  clergyman,  shaking 
nis  head,  "  that  you  are  incorrigible." 


"You're  right.  I  am,"  rejoined  Hugh, 
sternly.  "  Be  no  hypocrite,  master.  You 
make  a  merry-making  of  this,  every  month ; 
let  me  be  merry,  too.  If  you  want  a  i'rigiitened 
fellow,  there's  one  that'll  suit  you.  Try  your 
hand  upon  him." 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  Dennis,  who, 
with  his  legs  trailing  on  tiie  ground,  was  held 
between  two  men  ;  and  who  trembled  so,  that 
all  his  joints  and  limbs  seemed  racked  by 
spasms.  Turningfrom  this  wretched  spectacle, 
he  called  to  Barnaby,  who  stood  apart. 

"What  cheer,  Barnaby]  Don't  be  down- 
cast, lad.     Leave  that  to  Azw." 

"  Bless  you,"  cried  Barnaby,  stepping  lightly 
towards  him,  "  I  'm  not  frightened,  Hugh.  1  'ni 
quite  happy.  I  wouldn't  desire  to  live  now,  if 
they  'd  let  me.  Look  at  me  !  Am  I  afraid  to 
die  ■?     Will  they  see  me  tremble  ?" 

Hugh  gazed  for  a  moment  at  his  face,  on 
which  there  was  a  strange,  unearthly  smile ; 
and  at  his  eye,  which  sparkled  brightly ;  and 
interposing  between  him  and  the  ordinary, 
gruffly  whispered  to  the  latter: 

"1  wouldn't  say  much  to  iiim,  master,  if  I 
was  you.  He  may  spoil  your  appetite  fur 
breakfast,  though  you  are  used  to  it." 

He  was  the  only  one  of  the  three,  who  had 
washed  or  trimmed  himself  that  morning. 
Neither  of  the  others  had  done  so,  since  their 
doom  was  pronounced.  He  still  wore  the 
broken  peacock's  feathers  in  his  hat;  and  all 
his  usual  scraps  of  finery  were  carefully  dis- 
posed about  his  person.  His  kindling  eye,  his 
firm  step,  his  proud  and  resolute  bearing,  might 
have  graced  some  lofty  act  of  heroism  ;  some 
voluntary  sacrifice,  born  of  a  noble  cause  and 
pure  enthusiasm ;  rather  than  that  felon's 
death. 

But  all  these  things  increased  his  guilt. 
They  were  mere  assuimptions.  The  law  had 
declared  it  so,  and  so  it  must  be.  The  good 
minister  had  been  greatly  shocked,  not  a  quai- 
ter  of  an  hour  before,  at  his  parting  with  Grip, 
For  one  in  iiis  co^idition,  to  fondle  a  bird  ! — 

The  yard  was  filled  with  people, — bluff  civic 
functionaries,  officers  of  justice,  soldiers,  the 
curious  in  such  matters,  and  guests  wiio  had 
been  bidden  as  to  a  wedding.  Hugh  looked 
about  him,  nodded  gloomily  to  some  person  in 
authority,  who  indicated  with  his  hand  in  what 
direction  he  was  to  proceed  ;  and  clapping  Bar- 
naby on  the  shoulder,  passed  out  with  the  gait 
of  a  lion. 

They  entered  a  large  room,  So  near  to  the 
scaffold  that  the  voices  of  those  who  stood 
I  about  it,  could  be  plainly  heard  :  some  bese(>ch- 
ing  the  javelin-men  to  take  them  out  of  tlie 
crowd,  others  crying  to  those  behind  to  stand 
back,  for  tliey  were  pressed  to  death,  and  suf- 
focating for  want  of  air. 

In  the  middle  of  this  chamber,  two  smiths,^ 
with  hammers,  stood  beside  an  anvil.  Hugh 
walked  straight  up  to  them,  and  set  his  foot 
upon  it  with  a  sound  as  though  it  had  been 
struck  by  a  heavy  weapon.  Then,  with  foldt^J 
I  arms,  he  stood  to  have  his  irons  knocked  off; 


BAR  NAB  Y    RUDGE. 


303 


scowling  liaughtily  round,  as  those  who  were 
present  eyed  him  narrowly  and  whispered  lo 
each  other. 

It  took  so  much  time  to  drag  Dennis  in,  that 
♦.his  ceremony  was  over  with  Hugh,  and  nearly 
over  with  Barnahy,  before  he  appeared.  He  no 
sooner  came  into  the  pljce  he  knew  so  well, 
however,  and  among  faces  with  which  he  was 
so  familiar,  than  lie  recovered  strength  and 
sense  enough  to  clasp  his  hands,  and  make  a 
last  appeal. 

"  Gentlemen,  good  gentlemen,"  cried  the  ab- 
ject creature,  grovelling  down  upon  his  knees, 
and  actually  prostrating  himself  upon  the  stone 
floor:  "Governor,  dear  governor — honourable 
sheriffs — worthy  gentlemen — have  mercy  upon 
a  wretched  man  that  has  served  His  iMajesty, 
and  the  Law,  and  Parliament,  for  so  many 
years,  and  don't — don't  let  me  die — because  of 
a  mistake." 

"  Dennis,"  said  the  governor  of  the  jail, 
"  you  know  what  the  course  is,  and  that  the 
order  came  with  the  rest.  You  know  that  we 
could  do  nothing,  even  if  we  would." 

"  All  I  ask,  sir, — all  I  want  and  beg,  is  time, 
to  make  it  sure,"  cried  the  trembling  wretch, 
looking  wildly  round  for  sympathy.  "The 
King  and  Government  can't  know  it 's  me ; 
I'm  sure  they  can't  know  it's  me;  or  they 
never  would  bring  me  to  this  dreadful  slaughter- 
house. They  know  m.y  name,  but  they  don't 
know  it's  the  same  man.  Stop  my  execution 
— for  charity's  sake  stop  my  execution,  frentle- 
men — till  they  can  be  told  that  I  've  been  hang- 
man here,  nigh  thirty  year.  Will  no  one  go  and 
tell  them  V  he  implored,  clencliing  his  hands 
and  glaring  round,  and  round,  and  round  again — 
"will  no  charitable  person  go  and  tell  them  !" 

"  Mr.  Akerman,"  said  a  gentleman  who  stood 
oy,  after  a  moment's  pause;  "since  it  may 
possibly  produce  in  this  unhappy  man  a  better 
Trame  of  mind,  even  at  this  last  minute,  let  me 
assure  him  that  he  was  well  known  to  have 
been  the  hangman,  when  his  sentence  was  con- 
sidered." 

" — But  perhaps  they  think  on  that  account 
that  the  punisl'.m.ent  's  not  so  great,"  cried  the 
criminal,  shuffing  towards  this  speaker  on  his 
knees,  and  holding  up  his  folded  hands ;  "where- 
as it's  worse,  it's  worse  a  hundred  times,  to 
me  than  any  man.  Let  them  know  that,  sir. 
Let  them  know  that.  They've  made  it  worse 
to  me  by  giving  me  so  much  to  do.  Stop  my 
execution  till  they  know  that!" 

The  governor  beckoned  with  his  hand,  and 
the  two  men,  who  had  supported  him  before, 
approacheil.     He  uttered  a  piercing  cry  : 

"Wait!  Wait.  Only  a  moment — only  one 
moment  more!  Give  me  a  last  chance  of  re- 
prieve. One  of  us  three  is  to  go  to  Blooms- 
bury  Square.  Let  me  be  the  one.  It  may 
come  in  that  time;  it's  sure  to  come.  In  the 
Lord's  name  let  me  be  sent  to  Bloomsbury 
Square.     Don't  hang  me  here.     It's  muroer!" 

They  took  hi:n  to  the  anvil  :  but  even  then 
he  could   be  heard  above  the  clinking  of  tne  | 
smith's  hammers,  and  the  hoarse  raging  of  the  | 


crowd,  crying  that  he  knew  of  Hugh's  birth — 
that  his  father  was  living,  and  was  a  gentleman 
of  influence  and  rank  —  that  he  had  family  se- 
crets in  his  possession — that  he  could  tell  no- 
thing unless  they  gave  him  time,  but  must  die 
with  them  on  his  mind — and  he  continued  to 
rave  in  this  sort  until  his  voice  failed  liim,  and 
he  sank  down  a  mere  heap  of  clothes  betweea 
the  two  attendants. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  ;1ock  struck 
the  first  stroke  of  twelve,  and  the  bell  began  to 
toll.  The  various  officers,  with  the  two  sheriffs 
at  their  head,  moved  towards  the  door.  All 
was  ready  when  the  last  chime  came  upon  the 
ear. 

They  told  Hugh  this,  and  asked  if  he  had 
anything  to  say. 

"  To  say  !"  he  cried.  "  Not  I.  I'm  ready. 
— Yes,"  he  added,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Barna- 
hy, "  I  liave  a  word  to  say,  too.  Come  hither, 
lad." 

There  was,  for  the  moment,  something  kind, 
and  even  tender,  struggling  in  his  fierce  aspect, 
as  he  wrung  his  poor  companion  by  the  hand. 

"I'll  say  this,"  he  cried,  looking  firmly 
round,  "  that  if  I  had  ten  lives  to  lose,  and  the 
loss  of  each  would  give  me  ten  times  the  agony 
of  the  hardest  death,  I'd  lay  them  all  down — 
ay  I  would,  though  you  gentlemen  may  not  be- 
lieve it — to  save  this  one.  This  one,"  he  add- 
ed, wringing  his  hand  again,  "that  will  he  lost 
throutrh  me." 

"Not  through  you,"  said  the  i;liol,  mildly. 
"  Don't  say  that.  You  were  not  to  blame. 
You  have  been  always  very  good  to  me. — Aha, 
Hugh,  we  shall  know  what  makes  the  stars 
shine,  no!«.'" 

"  I  took  him  from  her  in  a  reckless  mood, 
and  didn't  think  what  harm  would  come  of  it," 
said  Hugh,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  head,  and 
speaking  in  a  lower  voice.  "  I  ask  her  p^inion, 
and  his. — Look  here,"  he  added  roughly,  in  his 
former  tone.     "  You  see  this  lad  '?" 

They  murmured  "  Yes,"  and  seemed  to  won- 
der why  he  asked. 

"  That  gentleman  j'onder — "  pointing  to  the 
clergyman  —  "has  often  in  the  last  few  dnys 
spoken  to  me  of  faith,  and  strong  belief.  You 
see  what  I  am — more  brute  than  man,  as  T  have 
been  told — but  I  had  faith  enough  to  believe, 
and  did  believe  as  strongly  as  any  of  you  gen- 
tlemen can  believe  anything,  that  this  one  life 
would  be  spared.  See  what  he  is ! — Look  at 
him  !" 

Barnahy  had  moved  towards  the  door,  and 
stood  beckoning  him  to  follow. 

'If  this  was  not  faith,  and  strong  hclinfl" 
cried  Hugh,  raising  his  ri<Tht  arm  aloft,  an'i 
looking  upward  like  a  savage  prophet  whou 
the  near  approach  of  Death  had  filled  with  ir>- 
spiration,  "  where  are  they  !  What  else  s'l^uh! 
teach  me — me,  born  as  I  was  born,  and  reared 
as  I  have  been — to  hope  for  any  mercy  in  this 
hardened,  cruel,  unrelenting  pla(.'e  !  Upon 
these  human  shambles.  I,  who  never  raise.i 
this  hand  in  prayer  till  now,  call  down  'he' 
wrath  of  God!     On  that  black  tree,  of  \vh\n\- 


304 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


]  am  the  ripeneJ  fruit,  I  do  invoke  the  curse  of 
all  its  victims,  past,  and  present,  and  to  cotne. 
On  theiiead  of  that  man,  who,  in  his  conscience, 
owns  me  for  his  son,  I  leave  the  wish  that  he 
may  never  sicken  in  his  bed  of  down,  but  die  a 
violent  death  as  I  siiall  do  now,  and  have  the 
niorht-wind  for  his  only  mourner.  To  this  1 
sviy.  Amen,  amen !" 

His  arm  fell  downward  by  his  side;  he  turn- 
ed ;  and  moved  towards  them  with  a  steady 
btep  :  the  man  ho  had  been  before. 

"There  is  nothing  morel"  said  the  Go- 
vernor. 

Huph  motioned  Barnaby  not  to  come  rear 
him  (though  without  lookino;  in  the  direction 
where  he  stood),  and  answered,  "There  is  no- 
tliing  more." 

"  i\love  forward  !" 

" — Unless,"  said  Hugh,  glancing  hurriedly 
back  —  "  unless  some  person  has  a  fancy  for  a 
dog;  and  not  then,  unless  he  means  to  use  him 
well.  There's  one  belongs  to  me, at  the  house 
I  came  from  ;  and  it  wouldn't  be  easy  to  find  a 
better.  He  '11  whine  at  first,  but  he  'il  soon  get 
over  that.  —  You  wonder  that  1  think  about  a 
dog  just  now,"  he  added,  with  a  kind  of  laugh. 
"  If  any  man  deserved  it  of  me  half  as  well, 
I'd  think  of  him." 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  moved  onward  in  his 
place,  with  a  careless  air,  though  listening  at 
the  same  time  to  the  Service  for  the  Dead,  with 
something  between  sullen  attention,  and  quick- 
ened curiosity.  As  soon  as  he  had  passed  the 
door,  his  miserable  associate  was  carried  out; 
and  the  crowd  beheld  the  rest. 

Barnaby  would  have  mounted  the  steps  at 
the  same  time — indeed  he  would  have  gone  be- 
fore them,  but  in  both  attempts  he  was  restrain- 
ed, as  he  was  to  undergo  the  sentence  elsewhere. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  sheriffs  reappeared,  the 
same  procession  was  again  formed,  and  tliey 
passed  through  various  rooms  and  passages  to 
anothei  door — that  at  which  the  cart  was  wait- 
ing. He  held  down  his  head  to  avoid  seeing 
what  he  knew  his  eyes  must  otherwise  encoun- 
ter, and  took  his  seat  sorrowfully,  —  and  yet 
with  something  of  a  childish  piide  and  pleasure, 
—  in  the  vehicle.  The  officers  fell  into  their 
places  at  the  sides,  in  front,  and  in  the  rear; 
the  sherifl''s  carriages  rolled  on  ;  a  guard  of 
soldiers  surrounded  the  v  hole  ;  and  they  moved 
slowly  forward  through  the  throng  and  pressure 
toward  Lord  Mansfield's  ruined  house. 


It  Avas  a  sad  siuht — all  that  show,  and 
strength,  and  glitter,  assembled  round  one  help- 
less creature  :  and  sadder  yet  to  note,  as  he 
rode  along,  how  his  wandering  thoughts  found 
strange  encouragement  in  the  crowded  windows 
and  the  concourse  in  the  streets ;  and  how, 
even  then,  he  felt  the  iniluence  of  tlie  bright 
sky,  and  looked  up  smiling  into  its  deep  un- 
fathomable blue.  But  there  had  been  many  . 
such  sights  since  the  riots  were  over — some  so  , 
moving  in  their  nature,  and  so  repulsive  too, 
that  they  were  far  more  calculated  to  awaken 
pity  for  the  sufferers,  than  respect  for  that  law 
whose  strong  arm  seemed  in  more  than  one 
case  to  be  as  wantonly  stretched  forth  now 
that  all  was  safe,  as  it  had  been  basely  para- 
lysed in  time  of  danger. 

Two  cripples — both  mere  boys — one  with  a 
leg  of  wood,  one  who  dragged  his  twisted  limbs 
along  by  ihe  help  of  a  crutch,  were  hanged  in 
this  same  Bloomsbury  Square.  As  the  cart 
was  about  to  glide  from  under  them,  it  was  ob- 
served that  they  stood  with  their  faces  from, 
not  to,  the  house  they  had  assisted  to  despoil ; 
and  their  misery  was  protracted  that  this  omis- 
sion might  be  remedied.  Another  boy  was 
hanged  in  Bow  Street;  other  young  lads  in 
various  quarters  of  the  town.  Four  wretched 
women,  too,  were  put  to  death.  In  a  word, 
those  who  suffered  were  for  the  most  part  the 
weakest,  meanest,  and  most  miserable  among 
them.  It  was  an  exquisite  satire  upon  the 
false  religious  cry  which  led  to  so  much  misery, 
that  some  of  these  people  owned  themselves  to 
be  catholics,  and  begged  to  be  attended  by  their 
own  priests. 

One  young  man  was  hanged  in  Bishopsgate 
Street,  whose  aged  grey-headed  father  waited 
for  him  at  the  gallows,  kissed  him  at  its  foot 
when  he  arrived,  and  sat  there,  on  the  ground, 
until  they  took  him  down.  They  would  have 
given  him  the  body  of  his  child  ;  but  he  had 
no  hearse,  no  coffin,  nothing  to  remove  it  in, 
being  too  poor;  and  he  walked  meekly  away 
beside  the  cart  that  took  it  back  to  the  prison, 
trying,  as  he  went,  to  touch  its  lifeless  hand. 

But  the  crowd  had  forgotten  these  matters, : 
or  cared  little  about  them  if  they  lived  in  their 
memory  :  and  while  one  great  multitude  fought ' 
and  hustled  to  get  near  the  gibbet  before  New- 
gate, for  a  parting  look,  another  followed  in  the 
train  of  poor  lost  Barnaby,  to  swell  the  throng 
that  waited  for  him  on  the  spot.  , 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-EIGHTH. 


On  this  same  day,  and  about  this  very  hoii-r,  l  his  custom  at  such  times  to  stew  himself  slow- 
Mr.  Wilier,  the  elder,  sat  smoking  his  pipe  in  '  ly,  under  the  impression  that  that  ])rocess  of 
a  chamber  of  the  Black  Lion.  Although  it  cookery  was  favourable  to  the  melting  out  of 
was  hot  summer  weather,  Mr.  VVillet  sat  close  his  ideas,  which,  when  he  began  to  simmer, 
to  tne  fire.  He  was  in  a  state  of  profound  sometimes  oozed  forth  so  copiously  as  to  aston- 
I'cgitation,  with  his  own  thoughts,  and  it  was    ish  even  himself. 


BARNABY  RUDGE, 


305 


Mi.Willet  bad  been  several  tbousand  times 
comforted  by  his  friends  and  acquaintances, 
with  the  assurance  that  for  the  lo^  lie  had  sus- 
tained in  the  damage  done  to  the  Maypole,  he 
?ould  "  come  upon  the  county."  But  as  this 
,>hrase  happened  to  bear  an  unfortunate  resem- 
blance to  the  popular  expression  of  "coming 
on  the  parish,"  it  suggested  to  I\Ir.  Willct's 
mind  no  more  consolatory  visions  than  pauper- 
ism on  an  extensive  scale,  and  ruin  in  its  most 
capacious  aspect.  Consequently,  he  had  never 
failed  to  receive  the  intelligence  with  a  rueful 
shake  of  the  head,  or  a  dreary  stare,  and  had 
been  always  observed  to  appear  much  more 
melancholy  after  a  visit  of  condolence  than  at 
any  other  time  in  the  whole  four-and-twenty 
hours. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  sitting  over  the  fire 
on  this  particular  occasion — perhaps  because  he 
was,  as  it  were,  done  to  a  turn ;  perhaps  because 
he  was  in  an  unusually  bright  state  of  mind  ; 
perhaps  because  he  had'considered  the  subject 
so  long  ;  or  perhaps  because  of  all  these  favour- 
ing circumstances  taken  together  —  it  chanced 
that,  silting  over  the  fire  on  this  particular  occa- 
sion,  Mr.  Willet  did,  afar  off  and   in    the  re- 
j  motest  deptlis  of  his  intellect,  perceive  a  kind 
!  of  lurking  hint  or  faint  suggestion,  that  out  of 
j  the  public  purse  there  might  issue  funds  for  the 
I  restoration  of  the  Maypole  to  its  former  high 
'  place   among  the  taverns  of  the  earth.     And 
•  this  dim  ray  of  light  did  so  diffuse  itself  with- 
in him,  and  did  so  kindle  up  and  shine,  that  at 
I  last  he  had  it  as  plainly  and  visibly  before  liiin 
'  as  the  blaze  by  which  he  sat:  and,  fully  per- 
l  suaded  that  he  w-as  the  first  to  make  the  disco- 
very, and  that  he  had  started,  hunted    down, 
I  fallen  upon,  and  knocked  on  the  head,  a  per- 
!  fectly  original  idea  which  had  never  presented 
:  itself  to  any  other  man,  alive  or  dead,  he  laid 
i  down  his  pipe,  rubbed  his  hands,  and  chuckled 
I  audibly. 

1      "Why,  father!"  cried  Joe,  entering  at  the 
!  moment,  "you're  in  spirits  to-day  !" 

"It's  nothing  partickler,"  said  Mr.  Willet, 
'  chuckling  again.  "  It 's  nothing  at  all  partick- 
!  ler,  Joseph.  Tell  me  something  about  the  Sal- 
wanners."  Having  preferred  this  request,  Mr. 
Willet  chuckled  a  third  time;  and  after  these 
.  unusual  demonstrations  of  levity,  he  put  his 
i  pipe  in  his  mouth  again. 

"What  shall  I  tell  you,  father  T'  asked  Joe, 
laying  his  hand  upon  his  sire's  shoulder,  and 
looking  down  into  his  face.  "That  I  have 
come  back,  poorer  than  a  church  mouse  ]  You 
know  that.  That  I  have  come  back,  maimed 
and  crippled  ■?     You  know  that." 

''It  was  took  off,"  muttered  Mr.  W'illet,  with 

'  his  eyes  upon  the  fire,  "at  the  defence  of  the 

Salwanners,  in  America,  where  the  war  is." 

"Quite  right,"  returned  Joe,   smiling,   and 

:  leaning  with  his  remaining  elbow  on  ihe  back 

■  of  his  father's  chair;  "the  very  suhjeci  I  came 

to  speak  to  you  about.     A  man  with  one  arm, 

father,  is  not  of  much  use  in  the  busy  world." 

This  was  one  of  those  vast  propositions 
which  Mr.  Willet  had  never  considered  for  an 


instant,  and  required  time  to  "  tackle."  Where- 
fore he  made  no  answer. 

"  At  all  events,"  said  Joe,  "  he  can't  pick 
and  choose  his  means  of  earning  a  livelihood, 
as  another  man  may.  He  can't  say  '1  will 
turn  my  hand  to  this,'  or  '  I  won't  turn  my  hand 
to  that,'  but  must  take  what  he  can  do,  and  be 
thankful  it's  no  worse.  —  What  did  you  say  1" 

Mr.  Willet  had  been  softly  repeating  to  him- 
self, in  a  musing  tone,  the  words  "  defence  of 
the  Salwanners:"  but  he  seemed  embarrassed 
at  having  been  overheard,  and  answered  "  No- 
thing." 

"Now  look  here,  father.  —  Mr.  Edward  has 
come  to  England  from  the  West  Indies.  Wiien 
he  was  lost  sight  of  (I  ran  away  on  the  same 
day,  father),  he  made  a  voyage  to  one  of  the 
islands,  where  a  school-friend  of  his  had  settled  ; 
and  finding  him,  wasn't  too  proud  to  be  cm- 
ployed  on  his  estate;  and  —  and  in  short,  got 
on  well,  and  is  prospering,  and  has  come  over 
here  on  business  of  his  own,  and  is  going  back 
again  speedily.  Our  returning  nearly  at  the 
same  time,  and  meeting  in  the  course  of  the  late 
troubles,  has  been  a  good  thing  every  way;  for 
it  has  not  only  enabled  us  to  do  old  friends 
some  service,  but  has  opened  a  path  in  life  for 
me  which  I  may  tread  without  being  a  burden 
upon  you.  To  be  plain,  father,  he  can  employ 
me  ;  I  have  satisfied  myself  that  I  can  be  of  real 
use  to  him;  and  I  am  going  to  carry  my  one 
arm  to  the  West  Indies,  and  to  make  the  most 
of  it." 

In  the  mind's  eye  of  Mr.  Willet,  the  West 
Indies,  and  indeed  all  foreign  countries,  were 
inhabited  by  savage  nations,  who  were  perpe- 
tually burying  pipes  of  peace,  flourishing  toma- 
hawks, and  puncturing  strange  patterns  in  their 
bodies.  He  no  sooner  heard  this  announce- 
ment, therefore,  than  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  took  bis  pipe  from  his  lips,  and  stared  at 
his  son  with  as  much  dismay  as  if  he  already 
beheld  him  tied  to  a  stake,  and  tortured  for  the 
entertainment  of  a  lively  population.  In  what 
form  of  expression  his  feelings  would  have 
found  a  vent,  it  is  impossible  to  say.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  :  for  before  a  syllable  occurred  to  him, 
Dolly  Varden  came  running  into  the  room,  in 
tears;  threw  herself  on  Joe's  breast  without  a 
word  of  explanation  ;  and  clasped  her  white 
arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Dolly  !"  cried  Joe.     "  Dolly  !' 

"Ay,  call  me   that;   call  me  that  always, 
exclaimed     the    locksmith's     little    daughter  , 
"  never  speak  coldly  to  me,  never  be  distant, 
never  again  reprove  me  for  the  follies  I  have 
long  repented,  or  I  shall  die." 

"  /reprove  you  !"  said  Joe. 

"  Yes  —  for  every  kind  and  honest  word  yo 
uttered,  went  to  my  heart.     For  you,  who  have 
borne  so  much  from  me  —  for  you,  who  owt- 
your  sufferin<rs  and    pain  to  my  caprice — for 
you  to  be  so  kind  —  so  noble  to  me,  Joe — *' 

He  could  say  nothing  to  her.  Not  a  sylla- 
ble. There  was  an  odd  sort  of  eloquence  in  his 
one  arm,  which  had  crept  round  her  waist,  bui 
his  lips  were  mute. 


300 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


"If  you  nad  reminded  me  lij'  a  word  — only 
iiy  on«  short  word,"  soh!)od  Dolly,  clinuirig  yet 
closer  to  liim.  "how  liiile  I  deserved  that  you 
shouhi  treat  me  with  so  much  forbearance;  if 
you  had  exulted  only  for  one  momrnt  in  your 
triumph,  I  could  have  borne  it  better." 

"Triumph!"  repealed  Joe,  with  a  smile 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  I  am  a  pretty  figure  for 
tliat." 

"  Yes,  triumph,"  she  cried,  with  lier  whole 
heart  and  sou!  in  her  earnest  voice,  and  gushing 
tears  ;  "  for  it  is  one.  I  am  glad  to  think  and 
know  it  is.  I  wouldn't  be  less  humbled,  dear; 
I  wouldn't  be  without  the  recollection  of  that 
last  time  we  spoke  together  in  this  place  —  no, 
not  if  I  could  recall  the  past,  and  make  our 
parting,  yesterday." 

Did  ever  lover  look  as  Joe  looked  now  ! 

"Dear  Joe,"  said  Dolly,  "I  always  loved 
you  —  in  my  own  heart  I  always  did,  although 
1  was  so  vain  and  gidd}^,  1  hoped  you  would 
come  back  that  night.  I  made  quite  pure  you 
would  ;  prayed  for  it  on  my  knees.  Through 
all  these  long,  long  years,  I  have  never  once 
torgotten  you,  or  left  off  hoping  that  this  happy 
lime  might  come." 

The  eloquence  of  Joe's  arm  surpassed  the 
most  impassioned  language;  and  so  did  that  of 
bis  lips  —  yet  he  said  nothing,  either. 

"And  now,  at  last,"  cried  Dolly,  trembling 
with  the  fervour  of  her  speech,  "if you  were 
sick,  and  shattered  in  your  every  limb  ;  if  you 
were  ailing,  weak,  and  sorrowful ;  if,  instead 
of  being  what  you  are,  )'ou  were  in  everybody's 
eyes  but  mine,  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  a  man;  I 
would  be  your  wife,  dear  love,  with  greater 
pride  and  joy,  than  if  you  were  the  stateliest 
lord  in  England  !" 

"  What  have  I  done,"  cried  Joe,  "  what  have 
I  done,  to  meet  with  this  reward  1" 

"You  have  taught  me,"  said  Dolly,  raising 
her  pretty  face  to  his,  "to  know  myself,  and 
your  worth  ;  to  be  something  better  than  I  was  ; 
to  be  more  deserving  of  your  true  and  manly 
nature.  In  years  to  come,  dear  Joe,  you  shall 
find  that  you  have  done  so;  for  I  will  be,  not 
only  now,  when  we  are  young  and  full  of  hope, 
but  when  we  have  grown  old  and  weary,  your 
patient,  gentle,  never-tiring  wife,  I  will  never 
know  a  wish  or  care  beyond  our  home  and  you, 
and  always  study  how  to  please  you  with  my 
best  affection  and  my  most  devoted  love.  I  will : 
indeed  I  will." 

Joe  could  only  repeat  his  former  eloquence — 
but  it  was  very  much  to  the  purpose. 

"They  know  of  this  at  home,"  said  Dolly. 
"For  your  sake,  I  would  leave  even  them;  but 
tliey  know  it,  and  are  glad  of  it,  and  are  proud 
Cffyou,  asl  am,  and  full  of  gratitude. — You'll 
not  como  and  see  me  as  a  poor  friend  who  knew 
ine  when  I  was  a  girl,  will  you!" 

Well,  well!  It  don't  matter  what  Jon  said 
in  answer,  but  he  said  a  great  deal ;  and  Dolly 
jnid  a  great  deal  too:  and  he  folded  Dolly  in  his 


one  arm  pretty  tight,  considering  that  it  was  but 
one;  and  Dolly  made  no  resistance:  and  if  ever 
two  people  wore  happy  in  this  world — which  is 
not  an  utterly  miserable  one,  with  all  its  faults 
— we  may,  with  some  appearance  of  certainty, 
conclude  that  they  were. 

P^ow,  to  say  that  during  these  proceedinga 
Mr.  Willet  the  elder  underwent  the  greatest 
emotions  of  astonishment  of  which  our  common 
nature  is  susceptible — to  say  that  he  was  in  a 
perfect  paralysis  of  surprise,  and  that  he  wan- 
dered into  the  most  stupendous  and  theretofore 
unattainable  heights  of  complicated  amazement 
— would  be  to  shadow  forth  his  state  of  mind  in 
the  feeblest  and  lamest  terms.  If  a  roc,  an 
eagle,  a  griffin,  a  flying  elephant,  or  winged  sea- 
horse, had  suddenly  appeared,  and,  taking  him 
on  its  back,  carried  him  bodily  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  "  Salwanners,"  it  would  have  been 
to  him  as  an  cvery-day  occurrence,  in  compari- 
son with  what  he  now  beheld.  To  be  sitting 
quietly  by,  seeing  and  hearing  these  things;  to 
be  completely  overlooked,  unnoticed,  and  disre- 
garded, while  his  son  and  a  young  lady  were 
talking  to  each  other  in  the  most  impassioned 
manner,  kissing  each  other,  and  making  them- 
selves in  all  respects  perfectly  at  home;  was  a 
position  so  tremendous,  so  inexplicable,  so  utterly 
beyond  the  widest  range  of  his  capacity  of  com- 
prehension, that  he  fell  into  a  lethargy  of  won- 
der, and  could  no  more  rouse  himself  than  an 
enchanted  sleeper  in  the  first  year  of  his  fairy 
lease,  a  century  long. 

"Father,"  said  Joe,  presenting  Dolly,  "you 
know  who  this  isl" 

Mr.  Willet  looked  first  at  her,  then  at  his  son, 
then  back  again  at  Dolly,  and  then  made  an  in 
effectual  effort  to  extract  a  whifl'  from  his  pipe, 
which  had  gone  out  long  ago. 

"Say  a  word,  father,  if  it's  only  'how  d'ye 
do,' "  urged  Joe. 

"  Certainly,  Joseph,"  answered  Mr.  Willet 
"Oh  yes!     Why  not]" 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Joe.     "  Why  not  1" 

"  Ah,"  replied  his  father.  "  Why  not?"  and 
with  this  remark,  which  he  uttered  in  a  low 
voice,  as  though  he  were  discussing  some  grave 
question  with  himself,  he  used  the  little  fingei 
— if  any  of  his  fingers  can  be  said  to  have  come 
under  that  dr.nomination — of  his  right  hand,  as  a 
tobacco  stopper,  and  was  silent  again. 

And  so  he  sat  for  half  an  hour  at  least,  al- 
though Dolly,  in  the  most  endearing  of  manners, 
hoped  he  was  not  angry  with  her,  and  kissed 
him.  So  he  sat  for  half  an  hour,  quite  motion-  • 
less,  and  looking  all  the  time  like  nothing  so 
much  as  a  great  Dutch  Pin  or  Skittle.  At  the 
expiration  of  that  period,  he  suddenly,  and  with- 
out the  least  notice,  burst,  to  the  great  conster- 
natiotn  of  the  young  people,  into  a  very  loud  and 
very  short  laugh;  and  repeating,  "Certainly, 
Joseph.  Oh  yes.  Why  notl"  went  out  for  a 
walk. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  THE  SEVENTY-NINTH. 


Ox.D  John  diJ  not  walk  near  the  Golden  Key,! 
for  between  the  Golden  Key  and  the  Black 
Lion  there  lay  a  wilderness  of  streets — as  every- 
body knows  who  is  acquainted  with  the  relative 
bearinos  of  Clerkenwell  and  Whilechapel — and 
he  was  by  no  means  famous  for  pedestrian  ex- 
ercises. But  the  Golden  Key  lies  in  our  way, 
though  it  was  out  of  his;  so  to  the  Golden  Key 
this  chapter  goes. 

The  (Jolden  Key  itself,  fair  emblem  of  the 
locksmith's  trade,  had  been  pulled  down  by  the 
rioters,  and  roughly  trampled  under  foot.  But 
now  it  was  hoisted  up  again  in  all  the  glory  of 
a  new  coat  of  paint,  and  showed  more  bravely 
even  than  in  days  of  yore.  Indeed  the  whole 
house-front  was  spruce  and  trim,  and  so  fresh- 
ened up  throughout,  that  if  there  yet  remained 
at  large  any  of  the  rioters  Vvho  had  been  con- 
cerned in  the  attack  upon  it,  the  sight  of  the  old, 
goodly,  prosperous  dwelling,  so  revived,  must 
have  been  to  them  as  gall  and  wormwood. 

The  shutters  of  the  shop  were  closed,  how- 
ever, and  the  window-blinds  above  were  all 
pulled  down,  and  in  place  of  its  usual  cheerful 
appearance,  the  house  had  a  look  of  sadness  and 
an  air  of  mourning;  which  the  neighbours  who 
in  old  days  had  often  seen  poor  Barnaby  go  in 
and  out,  were  at  no  loss  to  understand.  The 
door  stood  partly  open;  but  the  locksmith's 
hammer  was  unheard  :  the  cat  sat  moping  on 
the  ashy  forge ;  all  was  deserted,  dark,  and 
silent. 

On  the  threshold  of  this  door,  Mr.  Haredale 
and  Edward  Chester  met.  The  younger  man 
gave  place ;  and  both  passing  in  with  a  famil 
iar  air,  which  seemed  to  denote  that  they  were 
tarrying  there,  or  were  well-accustomed  to  go 
to  and  fro  unquestioned,  shut  it  behind  them 

Entering  the  old  back  parlour,  and  ascending 
the  flight  ofstairs,  abrupt  and  steep,  and  quaintly 
fashioned  as  of  old,  they  turned  into  the  best 
room ;  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Varden's  heart,  and 
erst  the  scene  of  Miggs's  household  labours. 

"Varden  brought  the  mother  here  last  even 
ing,  he  told  me]"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

*' She  is  above  stairs  now — in  the  room  over 
here,"  Edward  rejoined.  "  Her  grief,  they 
say,  is  past  all  telling.  I  needn't  add — for  that 
you  know  beforehand — that  the  care,  humanity 
and  sympathy  of  these  good  people  have  no 
bounds." 

"I  am  sure  of  that.  Heaven  repay  them  for 
•it,  and  for  much  more  !     Varden  is  GUI'?" 

"  He  returned  with  your  messenger,  who 
arrived  almost  at  the  moment  of  his  coming 
home  himself.  He  was  out  the  whole  night — 
but  that  of  course  you  know.  He  was  with  you 
Ifie  greater  part  of  it  V 

"  He  was.  Without  him,  1  should  have 
lacked  my  right  hand.  He  is  an  older  man  than 
I;  but  nothing  can  conquer  him." 


'  The  cheeriest,  stouteut-hearted  fellow  in 
the  world." 

"  He  has  a  right  to  be.  He  has  a  right  to  be. 
V  better  creature  never  lived.  He  reaps  what 
he  has  sown — no  more." 

"It  is  not  all  men,"  said  Edward,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  who  have  the  happiness 
to  do  that." 

"  More  than  yon  imagine,"  returned  Mr. 
Haredale.  "  We  note  the  harvest  more  than 
the  seed-time.     You  do  so  in  me." 

In  truth  his  pale  and  haggard  face,  and  gloomy 
bearing,  had  so  far  influenced  tlie  remark,  that 
Edward  was,  for  the  moment,  at  a  loss  to  answer 
him. 

"  Tut  tut,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "'twas  not 
very  difficult  to  read  a  thought  so  natural.  But 
you  are  mistaken  nevertheless.  I  have  had  my 
share  of  sorrows — more  than  the  common  lot. 
perhaps — but  I  have  borne  them  ill.  I  have 
broken  where  I  should  have  bent;  and  have 
mused  and  brooded,  when  my  spirit  should  have 
mixed  with  all  God's  great  creation.  The  men 
who  learn  endurance,  are  they  who  call  the 
whole  world,  brother.  I  have  turned  from  tho 
world,  and  I  pay  the  penalty." 

Edward  would  have  interposed,  but  he  went 
on  without  giving  him  time. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  evade  it  now.  I  sometimes 
think,  that  if  I  had  to  live  my  life  once  more,  I 
would  amend  this  fault — not  so  much,  I  discover 
when  I  search  my  mind,  for  the  love  of  what 
is  right,  as  for  my  own  sake.  But  even  when  I 
make  these  better  resolutions,  1  instinctively 
recoil  from  the  idea  of  suffering  again  what  I 
have  undergone;  and  in  this  circumstance  1  And 
the  unwelcome  assurance  that  I  should  still  be 
the  same  man,  though  I  could  cancel  the  past, 
and  begin  anew,  with  its  experience  to  guide 
me." 

"  Nay,  you  make  too  sure  of  that,"  said 
Edward. 

"  You  think  so,"  Mr.  Haredale  answered, 
"and  I  am  glad  you  do.  I  know  myself  better, 
and  therefore  distrust  myself  more.  Let  us 
leave  this  subject  for  another — not  so  far  remo* 
ved  from  it  as  it  might,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  be. 
Sir,  you  still  love  my  niece,  and  she  is  still  at- 
tached to  you." 

"  I  have  that  assurance  from  her  own  lips," 
said  Edward,  "  and  you  know — I  am  sure  yon 
know — that  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  any 
blessing  life  could  yield  me." 

"  You  are  frank,  honourable,  and  disinteres 
ted,"  said  Mr.  Haredale;  "you  have  forced  the 
conviction  that  you  are  so,  even  on  my  once- 
jaundiced  mind  ;  and  I  believe  you.  Wait 
here  till  I  come  back." 

He  left  the  room  as  he  spoke;  but  soon  ro 
turned,  with  his  niece 

"  On  that  first  and  only  time."  lie  said,  look- 


SOS 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


ing  from  the  one  to  the  other,  "  when  we  three 
stood  together  under  her  father's  roof,  I  bade 
you  quit  it,  and  charged  you  never  to  return." 

"  It  is  the  only  circumstance  arising  out  of 
.>ur  love,"  observed  Edward,  "  that  I  have 
forgotten." 

"You  own  a  name,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "I 
had  deep  reason  to  remember.  I  was  moved 
and  goaded  by  recollections  of  personal  wrong 
and  injury,  I  know:  but  even  now  I  cannot 
charge  myself  with  having  then,  or  ever,  lost 
Bight  of  a  heartfelt  desire  for  her  true  happiness  ; 
or  with  having  acted  —  however  much  I  was 
mistaken — with  any  other  impulse  than  the  one 
pure,  single,  earnest  wish  to  be  to  her,  as  far  as 
in  my  inferior  nature  lay,  the  father  she  had  lost." 

"  Dear  uncle,"  cried  Emma,  "I  have  known 
3ao  parent  but  you.  I  have  loved  the  memory 
of  others,  but  1  have  loved  you  all  my  life. 
Never  was  fiither  kinder  to  his  child  than  you 
have  been  to  me,  without  the  interval  of  one 
harsh  hour,  since  I  can  first  remember." 

"  You  speak  too  fondly,"  he  answered,  "  and 
yet  I  cannot  wish  you  were  less  partial;  for  I 
have  a  pleasure  in  hearing  those  words,  and 
shall  have  in  calling  them  to  mind  when  we  are 
far  asunder,  which  nothing  else  could  give  me. 
Bear  with  me  for  a  moment  longer,  sir,  for  she 
and  I  have  been  together  many  years;  and  al- 
though I  believe  that  in  resigning  her  to  you  I 
put  the  seal  upon  her  future  happiness,  I  find  it 
needs  an  effort." 

He  pressed  her  tenderly  to  his  bosom,  and 
efter  a  minute's  pause,  resumed  : 

"  I  have  done  you  wrong,  sir,  and  I  ask  your 
forgiveness  —  in  no  common  phrase,  or  show  of 
Eorrow;  but  with  earnestness  and  sincerity.  In 
the  same  spirit,  I  acknowledge  to  you  both  that 
the  time  has  been  when  I  connived  at  treachery 
and  falsehood  —  which  if  I  did  not  perpetrate 
myself,  I  still  permitted  —  to  rend  you  two 
asunder." 

"  You  judge  yourself  too  harshly,"  said  Ed- 
ward.    "  Let  these  things  rest." 

"They  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me  when 
1  look  back,  and  not  now  for  the  first  time,"  he 
answered.  ''I  cannot  part  from  you  without 
your  full  forgiveness;  for  busy  life  and  I  have 
little  left  in  common  now,  and  I  have  regrets 
enough  to  carry  into  solitude,  without  addition 
to  the  stock." 

"  You  bear  a  blessing  from  us  both,"  said 
Emma.  "Never  mingle  thoughts  of  me  —  of 
me  who  owe  you  so  much  love  and  duly — with 
anything  hut  undying  affection  and  gratitude  for 
the  past,  and  bright  hopes  for  the  future." 

"  The  future,"  returned  her  uncle,  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  "  is  a  bright  word  for  you, 
and  its  image  should  be  wreathed  with  cheerful 
hopes.  Mine  is  of  another  kind,  but  it  will  be 
one  of  peace ;  and  free,  I  trust,  from  care  or 
passion.  When  you  quit  England  I  shall  leave 
it  too.  There  are  cloisters  abroad  ;  and  now 
that  the  two  great  objects  of  my  life  are  set  at 
rest,  I  know  no  better  home.  Y'ou  droop  at 
that,  forgetting  I  am  growing  old,  and  that  my 
rourse  is  nearly  run.     Well,  we  will  speak  of 


it  again  —  not  once  or  twice,  but  many  time?, 
and  you  shall  give  me  cheerful  counsel,  Emma." 

"And  you  will  take  itl"  asked  his  niece. 

"I'll  listen  to  it,"  he  answered,  kissing  her 
fair  brow,  "and  it  will  have  its  weight,  be  cer- 
tain. What  have  I  left  to  say?  You  have  of 
late  been  much  together.  It  is  better  and  more 
fitting  that  the  circumstances  attendant  on  the 
past,  which  wrought  your  separation,  and  sowed 
between  you  suspicion  and  distrust,  should  not 
be  entered  on  by  me." 

"Much,  much  better,"  whispered  Emma. 
"Remember  them  no  more!" 

"I  avow  my  share  in  them,"  said  INIr.  Hare- 
dale,  "though  I  held  it  at  the  time  in  detesta- 
tion. Let  no  man  turn  aside,  ever  so  slightly, 
from  the  broad  path  of  honour,  on  the  plausible 
pretence  that  he  is  justified  by  the  goodness  of 
his  end.  All  good  ends  can  be  worked  out  by 
good  means.  Those  that  cannot,  are  bad  ;  and 
may  be  counted  so  at  once,  and  left  alone." 

He  looked  from  her  to  Edward,  and  said  in  a 
gentler  tone: 

"In  goods  and  fortune  you  are  now  nearly 
equal ;  I  have  been  her  faithful  steward,  and  to 
that  remnant  of  a  richer  property  which  my 
brother  left  her,  I  desire  to  add,  in  token  of  my 
love,  a  poor  pittance,  scarcely  worth  the  men- 
tion, for  which  I  have  no  longer  any  need.  I 
am  glad  you  go  abroad.  Let  our  ill-fated  house 
remain  the  ruin  it  is.  When  you  return  after 
a  few  thriving  years,  you  will  command  a  bet- 
ter, and  more  fortunate  one.     We  are  friends'?" 

Edward  took  his  extended  hand,  and  grasped 
it  heartily. 

"  You  are  neither  slow  nor  cold  in  your  re- 
sponse," said  Mr.  Haredale,  doing  the  like  by 
him,  "  and  when  I  look  upon  you  now,  and  know 
you,  I  feel  that  I  would  choose  you  tijr  lier  hus- 
band. Her  father  had  a  generous  nature,  and 
you  would  have  pleased  him  well.  I  give  her 
to  you  in  his  name,  and  with  his  blessing.  If 
the  world  and  I  part  in  this  act,  we  part  on  hap- 
pier terms  than  we  have  lived  for  many  a  day." 

He  placed  her  in  his  arms,  and  would  have 
left  the  room,  but  that  he  was  stopped  in  his 
passage  to  the  door  by  a  great  noise  at  a  dis- 
tance, which  made  them  start  and  pause. 

It  was  a  loud  shouting,  mingled  vvitli  boister- 
ous acclamations,  that  rent  the  very  air.  It 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  every  moment,  and  ap- 
proached .so  rapidly,  that  even  while  they  lis- 
tened, it  burst  into  a  deafening  confusion  of 
sounds  at  the  street  coiner. 

"Tills  must  be  stopped  —  quieted,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  hastily.  "  We  should  have  foreseen 
this,  and  provided  against  it.  I  will  go  out  to 
them  at  once." 

But  before  he  could  reach  the  door,  and  before 
Edward  could  catch  up  his  hut  and  follow  him, 
they  were  again  arrested  by  a  loud  shriek  from 
above  stairs:  and  the  locksmith's  wife,  bursting 
in,  and  fairly  lunning  into  Mr.  Haredale's  arms, 
cried  out: 

"She  knows  it  all,  dear  sir!  —  she  knows  it 
all !  We  broke  it  out  to  her  by  degrees,  and 
she  is  quite  prepared."     Having  made  this  rona- 


BARNABY   RUDGE. 


309 


munication,  and  furthormorc  thanked  Heaven 
with  groat  fervour  and  heartiness,  tiie  good  lady, 
according  to  tlie  custom  of  matrons  on  all  occa- 
sions of  excitement,  fainted  away  directly. 

They  ran  to  the  window,  tiirew  up  the  sash, 
and  looked  into  the  crowded  street.  Among  a 
dense  mob  of  persons,  of  whom  not  one  was  for 
an  instant  still,  the  locksmith's  ruddy  face  and 
burly  form  could  be  descried,  beating  about  as 
though  he  were  struggling  with  a  rough  pea. 
Now  he  was  carried  back  a  score  of  yards,  now 
onward  nearly  to  the  door,  now  back  again,  now 
forced  against  the  opposite  houses,  now  against 
those  adjoining  his  own  :  now  carried  up  a  flight 
of  steps,  and  greeted  by  the  outstretched  hands 
of  half  a  hundred  men,  while  tlie  whole  tumult- 
uous concourse  stretched  their  throats,  and  cheer- 
ed wil'i  all  their  might.  Though  he  was  really 
in  a  fair  way  to  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the  general 
enthusiasm,  the  locksmith,  nothing  discom- 
posed, echoed  their  shouts  till  he  was  hoarse  as 
they,  and  in  a  glow  of  joy  and  right  good- 
humour,  waved  his  hat  until  the  daylight  shone 
between  its  brim  and  crown. 

But  in  all  the  bandyings  from  hand  to  hand, 
and  strivings  to  and  fro,  and  sweepings  here  and 
there,  which — saving  that  he  looked  more  jolly 
and  more  radiant  after  every  struggle — troubled 
his  peace  of  mind  no  more  than  if  he  had  been 
a  straw  upon  the  water's  suj-face,  he  never  once 
released  his  firm  grasp  of  an  arm,  drawn  tight 
through  his.  lie  sometimes  turned  to  clap  tliis 
friend  upon  the  back,  or  whisper  in  his  ear  a 
word,  of  staunch  encouragement,  or  cheer  him 
with  a  smile  :  but  his  great  care  was  to  shield 
him  from  the  pressure,  and  force  a  passage  for 
him  to  the  Golden  Key.  Passive  and  timid, 
scared,  pale,  and  wondering,  and  gazing  at  the 
thronsr  as  if  he  were  newly  risen  from  the  dead, 
and  felt  himself  a  ghost  among  the  living,  Bar- 
naby  —  not  Barnaby  in  the  spirit,  but  in  flesh 
and  blood,  with  pulses,  sinews,  nerves,  and 
beating  heart,  and  strong  afft'ctions — clung  to 
his  stout  old  friend,  and  followed  where  he  led. 

And  thus,  in  course  of  time,  they  reached  the 
door,  held  ready  for  their  entrance  by  no  unwill- 
ing hands.  Then  slipping  in,  and  shutting  out 
the  crowd  by  main  force,  Gabriel  stood  between 
Mr.  Haredale  and  Edward  Chester,  and  Bar- 
naby, rushing  up  the  stairs,  fell  upon  his  knees 
beside  his  mother's  bed. 

"Such  is  the  blessed  end,  sir,"  cried  the 
panting  locksmith,  to  Mr.  Haredale,  "of  the 
best  day's  work  we  ever  did.  The  rogues  !  it's 
been  hard  fighting  to  get  away  from  'em.  I 
almost  thought,  once  or  twice,  they  'd  have  been 
too  much  for  us  with  their  kindness!" 

They  had  striven  all  the  previous  day  to  res- 
cue Barnaby  from  his  impending  fate.  Failing 
in  their  attempts,  in  the  first  quarter  to  which 
they  addressed  themselves,  they  renewed  them 
in  another.  Failing  there,  likewise,  they  began 
afresh  at  midnight;  and  made  their  way,  not 
only  to  the  judge  and  jury  who  had  tried  him, 
but  to  men  of  influence  at  court,  to  the  young 
Prince  of  Wales,  and  even  to  the  antechamber 
r»f  the  king  himseY.  Successful,  at  last,  in 
20 


awakening  an  interest  in  his  favour,  and  an 
inclination  to  inquire  more  dispassionately  into 
his  case,  they  had  had  an  interview  with  the 
minister,  in  his  bed,  so  late  as  eight  o'clock  that 
morning.  The  result  of  a  searching  inquiry 
(in  which  they,  who  had  known  the  poor  fellow 
from  his  childhood,  did  other  good  service,  be- 
sides bringing  it  about)  was,  that  between 
eleven  and  twelve  o'clock,  a  free  pardon  to  Bar- 
naby Rudge  was  made  out  and  signed,  and  en- 
trusted to  a  horse-soldier  for  instant  conveyance 
to  the  place  of  execution.  This  courier  reached 
the  spot  just  as  the  cart  appeared  in  sight :  and 
Barnaby  being  carried  back  to  jail,  Mr.  Hare- 
dale, assured  that  all  was  safe,  had  gone  straight 
from  Bloomsbury  Square  to  the  Golden  Key, 
leaving  to  Gabriel  the  grateful  task  of  bringing 
him  home  in  triumph. 

"I  needn't  say,"  observed  the  locksmith, 
when  he  had  shaken  hands  with  all  the  males 
in  the  house,  and  hugged  all  the  females,  I'lve- 
and-forty  times,  at  least,  "that,  except  among 
ourselves,  /didn't  want  to  make  a  triumph  of 
it.  But  directly  we  got  into  the  streets  we  were 
known,  and  this  hubbub  began.  Of  tlie  two," 
he  added,  as  he  wiped  his  crimson  face,  "and 
after  experience  of  both,  I  think  I  'd  rather  be 
taken  out  of  my  house  by  a  crowd  of  enemies, 
than  escorted  home  by  a  mob  of  friends  !" 

It  was  plain  enough,  however  that  this  was 
mere  talk  on  Gabriel's  part,  and  that  the  whole 
proceeding  afforded  him  the  keenest  delight;  for 
the  people  continuing  to  make  a  great  noise 
without,  and  to  cheer  as  if  their  voices  were  in 
the  freshest  order,  and  good  for  a  fortnight,  he 
sent  up  stairs  for  Grip  (who  had  come  home  at 
his  master's  back,  and  had  acknowledged  the 
fiivours  of  the  multitude  by  drawing  blood  from 
every  finger  that  came  within  his  reach,)  and 
with  tiie  bird  upon  his  arm,  presented  himself 
at  the  first-floor  window,  and  waved  his  hat 
again  until  it  dangled  by  a  shred,  between  his 
fingers  and  thumb.  This  demonstration  having 
been  received  with  appropriate  shouts,  and  si- 
lence being  in  some  degree  restored,  he  thanked 
them  for  their  sympatliy  ;  and  taking  the  liberty 
to  inform  them  that  there  was  a  sick  person  in 
the  house,  proposed  that  they  should  give  three 
cheers  for  King  George,  three  more  for  Old 
England,  and  three  more  for  nothing  particular, 
as  a  closing  ceremony.  The  crowd  assenting, 
substituted  Gabriel  Varden  for  the  nothing  par- 
ticular; and  giving  him  one  over,  for  good  mea- 
sure, dispersed  in  high  good-humour. 

What  congratulations  they  exchanged  when 
they  were  left  alone ;  what  an  overflouins:  of 
joy  and  happiness  there  was  among  thpin  ;  how- 
incapable  it  was  of  expression  in  Barnaby 's  own 
])erson ;  and  how  he  went  wildly  from  one  to 
another,  until  he  became  so  far  tranquillized  as 
to  stretch  himself  on  the  ground  bef.ide  his 
mother's  couch,  and  fall  into  a  deep  sleep;  are 
matters  that  need  not  be  told.  And  it  is  well 
they  happen  to  be  of  this  class,  for  they  would 
be  very  hard  to  tell,  were  their  narration  ever 
so  indispensable. 

Before  leaving  this  bright  picture,  it  may  he 


nio 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


well  to  glance  at  a  dark  and  very  different  one 
which  was  presented  to  only  a  few  eyes,  that 
same  night. 

Tlie  scene  was  a  church-yard  ;  the  time,  mid- 
night; the  persons,  Edward  Chester,  a  clergy- 
man, a  grave-digger,  and  the  four  bearers  of  a 
homely  collin.  They  stood  about  a  grave  which 
had  been  newly  dug,  and  one  of  the  bearers 
held  up  a  dim  lantern, — the  only  litiht  there — 
which  shed  its  feeble  ray  upon  the  book  of 
prayer.  He  placed  it  for  a  moment  on  the  cof- 
fin, when  he  and  his  companions  were  about  to 
lower  it  down.  There  was  no  inscription  on 
the  lid. 

The  mould  fell  solemnly  upon  the  last  house 
of  this  nameless  man;  and  the  rattling  dust 
left  a  dismal  echo  even  in  the  accustomed  ears 
of  those  who  had  borne  it  to  its  resting-place. 
The  grave  was  filled  in  to  the  top,  and  trodden 
down.     They  all  left  the  spot  together. 


"  You  never  saw  him,  living  ?"  asked  the 
priest,  of  Edward. 

"  Often,  years  ago  ;  not  knowing  him  for  my 
brother." 

"  Never  since  1" 

"  Never.  Yesterday,  he  steadily  refused  to 
see  me.  It  was  urged  upon  him,  many  times, 
at  my  desire." 

"  Still  he  refused  ]  That  was  hardened  and 
unnatural." 

"  Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  infer  that  you  do  not," 

"You  are  riglit.  We  hear  the  world  wonder 
every  day  at  monsters  of  ingratitude.  Did  it 
never  occur  to  you  that  it  often  looks  for  mon- 
sters of  affection,  as  though  they  were  things 
of  course  ?" 

Tiiey  had  reached  the  gate  by  this  time,  and 
bidding  each  other  good  night,  departed  on  their 
separate  ways. 


CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTIETH. 


That  afternoon,  when  he  had  slept  off"  his 
fatigue;  had  shaved,  and  washed,  and  dressed, 
and  freshened  himself  from  top  to  toe  ;  when 
he  had  dined,  comforted  himself  with  a  pipe, 
an  extra  Toby,  a  nap  in  tiie  great  arm-chair, 
and  a  quiet  chat  with  Mrs.  Varden  on  every- 
thing that  had  happened,  was  happening,  or 
about  to  happen,  within  the  sphere  of  their  do- 
mestic concern ;  the  locksmith  sat  himself  down 
at  the  tea-table  in  the  little  back  parlour  :  the 
rosiest,  cosiest,  merriest,  heartiest,  best-con- 
tented old  buck,  in  Great  Britain  or  out  of  it. 

There  he  sat,  with  his  beaming  eye  on  Mrs. 
v.,  and  his  shining  face  suffused  with  gladness, 
and  his  capacious  waistcoat  smiling  in  every 
wrinkle,  and  his  jovial  humour  peeping  from 
under  the  table  in  the  very  plumpness  of  his 
legs:  a  sight  to  turn  the  vinegar  of  misanthropy 
into  purest  milk  of  human  kindness.  There  he 
sat,  watching  his  wife  as  she  decorated  the  room 
with  flowers  for  the  greater  honour  of  Dolly  and 
.loseph  Willet,  who  had  gone  out  walking,  and 
for  whom  the  tea-ketile  had  been  singing  gaily 
on  the  hob  full  twenty  minutes,  chirping  as 
never  kettle  chirped  before;  for  whom  the  best 
service  of  real  undoubted  china,  patterned  with 
divers  round-faced  mandarins  holding  up  broad 
umbrellas,  was  now  displayed  in  all  its  glory; 
to  tempt  whose  appetites  a  clear,  transparent, 
juicy  ham,  garnished  with  cool  green  lettuce 
leaves  and  fragrant  cucumber,  reposed  upon  a 
shady  table,  covered  with  a  snow-white  cloth  ; 
for  whose  delight,  preserves  and  jams,  crisp 
cakes  and  otner  pastry,  short-to-eat,  with  cun- 
ning twists  and  cottage  loaves,  and  rolls  of 
bread  both  white  and  brown,  were  all  set  forth 
in  rich  profusion  ;  in  whose  youth  Mrs.  V.  her- 
ne'l'  had  ^own  quite  young,  and  stood  there  in 


a  gown  of  red  and  white ;  symmetrical  in  figure, 
buxom  in  boddice,  ruddy  in  cheek  and  lip,  fault- 
less in  ankle,  laughing  in  face  and  mood,  in  all 
respects  delicious  to  behold — there  sat  the  lock- 
smith among  all  and  every  these  deliohts,  the 
sun  that  shone  upon  them  all :  the  centre  of  the 
system  :  the  source  of  light,  heat,  life,  and  frank 
enjoyment  in  the  bright  household  world. 

And  when  had  Dolly  ever  been  the  Dolly  of 
that  afternoon  1  To  see  how  she  came  in  arm- 
in-arm  with  Joe;  and  how  she  made  an  effort 
not  to  blush  or  seem  at  all  confused  ;  and  how 
she  made  believe  she  didn't  care  to  sit  on  his 
side  of  the  table:  and  how  she  coaxed  the  lock- 
smith in  a  whisper  not  to  joke:  and  how  her 
colour  came  and  went  in  a  little  restless  flutter 
of  happiness,  which  made  her  do  everything 
wrong,  and  yet  so  charmingly  wrong  that  it 
was  much  better  than  right! — why,  tlie  lock- 
smith could  have  looked  on  at  this  (as  he  men- 
tioned to  Mrs.  Varden  when  they  retiren  for  tlie 
night)  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  a  stretch, 
and  never  wished  it  done. 

The  recollections,  too,  with  which  they  made 
merry  over  that  long-protracted  tea  !  The  glee 
with  which  the  locksmith  asked  Joe  if  he  re- 
membered that  stormy  night  at  the  Maypole 
when  he  first  asked  after  Dolly — the  laugh  they 
all  had  about  that  night  when  she  was  going 
out  to  the  party  in  the  sedan-chair — the  unmer- 
ciful manner  in  which  they  rallied  Mrs.  Varden 
about  putting  those  flowers  outside  that  very 
window — the  difficulty  Mrs.  Varden  found  in 
joining  the  laugh  against  herself  at  first,  and 
the  extraordinary  perception  she  had  of  the  joke 
when  she  overcame  it — the  confidential  state- 
ments of  Joe  concerning  the  precise  day  and 
hour  when  he  was  first  conscious  of  being  fond 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


311 


ot  Dol'y,  and  Dolly's  blushin<T  admissions, 
half  volunteered,  and  half  extorted,  as  to  the 
tune  from  wliich  she  dated  the  discovery  that 
siie  "didn't  mind"  Joe — here  was  an  exhaust- 
less  fund  of  mirth  and  conversation! 

Then  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said  re- 
pardinir  Mrs.  Varden's  doubts,  and  motherly 
alarms,  and  shrewd  suspicions;  and  it  appeared 
that  from  Mrs.  Varden's  penetration  and  extreme 
sagacity  nothing  had  ever  been  hidden.  She 
had  known  it  all  along.  She  had  seen  it  from 
the  first.  Slie  had  always  predicted  it.  She 
had  been  aware  of  it  before  the  principals.  She 
had  said  within  herself  (for  she  remembered  the 
exact  words)  "that  young  Willet  is  certainly 
looking  after  our  Dolly,  and  /  must  look  after 
Ajm."  Accordingly  she  had  looked  after  him, 
and  had  observed  many  little  circumstances  (all 
of  which  she  named)  so  exceedingly  minute 
that  nobody  else  could  make  anything  out  of 
them  even  now;  and  had,  it  seemed,  from  first 
to  last,  displayed  the  most  unbounded  tact  and 
most  consummate  generalship. 

Of  course  the  night  when  Joe  would  ride 
homeward  by  the  side  of  the  chaise,  and  when 
iMrs.  Varden  iv.iuld  insist  upon  his  going  back 
again,  was  not  forgotten — nor  the  night  when 
Dolly  fainted  on  his  name  being  mentioned — 
nor  the  times  upon  times  when  Mrs.  Varden, 
ever  watchful  and  prudent,  had  found  her  pin- 
ing in  her  own  chamber.  In  short,  nothing 
was  forgotten  ;  and  everything  by  some  means 
or  other  brought  them  back  to  the  conclusion, 
that  that  was  the  happiest  hour  in  all  their  lives; 
consequently,  that  everything  must  have  occur- 
red for  the  best,  and  nothing  could  be  suggested 
which  would  have  made  it  better. 

While  they  were  in  the  full  glow  of  such  dis- 
course as  this,  there  came  a  startling  knock  at 
the  door,  opening  from  the  street  into  the  work- 
shop, which  had  been  kept  closed  all  day  that 
the  house  might  be  more  quiet.  Joe,  as  in  duty 
bound,  would  hear  of  nobody  but  himself  going 
to  open  it;  and  accordingly  left  the  room  for 
that  purpose. 

It  would  have  been  odd  enough,  certainly,  if 
Joe  had  forgotten  the  way  to  this  door;  and  even 
if  he  had,  as  it  was  a  pretty  large  one  and  stood 
straight  before  him,  he  could  not  easily  have 
missed  it.  But  Dolly,  perhaps  because  she  was 
in  the  flutter  of  spirits  before  mentioned,  or  per- 
haps because  she  thought  he  would  not  be  able 
to  open  it  with  his  one  arm — she  could  have  had 
no  other  reason  —  hurried  out  after  him";  and 
they  stopped  so  long  in  the  passage  —  no  doubt 
owing  to  Joe's  entreaties  that  she  would  not  ex- 
pose herself  to  the  draught  of  July  air  which 
must  infallibly  come  rushing  in  on  this  same 
door  being  opened — that  the  knock  was  repeat- 
ed, in  a  yet  more  startling  manner  than  before. 

"Is  anybody  going  to  open  that  doorl"  cried 
the  locksmith.     "  Or  shall  I  comeV 

Upon  that,  Dolly  went  running  back  into  the 
parlour,  all  dimples  and  blushes;  and  Joe  open- 
ed it  with  a  mighty  noise,  and  other  superfluous 
demonstrations  of  being  in  a  violent  hurry. 

"  Well,"   said   the  locksmith,  when  he  re- 


appeared :  "  what  is  it]  eh,  Joel  what  are  you 
laughing  af?" 

"Nothing  sir.     It's  coming  in." 

"Who's  coming  inl  what's  coming  in?" 
Mrs.  Varden,  as  much  at  a  loss  as  her  husband, 
could  only  shake  her  head  in  answer  to  his  in- 
quiring look :  so  the  locksmith  wheeled  his 
chair  round  to  command  a  better  view  of  the 
room  door,  and  stared  at  it  with  his  eyes  wide 
open,  and  a  mingled  expression  of  curiosity  and 
wonder  shining  in  his  jolly  face. 

Instead  of  some  person  or  persons  straight- 
way appearing,  divers  remarkable  sounds  were 
heard,  first  in  the  workshop  and  afterwards  in 
the  little  dark  passage  between  it  and  the  par- 
lour, as  though  some  unwieldy  chest  or  heavy 
piece  of  furniture  were  being  brought  in,  by  an 
amount  of  human  strength  inadequate  to  the 
task.  At  length  after  much  struggling  and 
bumping,  and  bruising  of  the  wall  on  both  sides, 
the  door  was  forced  open  as  by  a  battering-ram  , 
and  the  locksmith,  steadily  regarding  what  ap- 
peared beyond,  smote  his  thigh,  elevated  his 
eyebrows,  opened  his  mouth,  and  cried  in  a  1-oud 
voice  expressive  of  the  utmost  consternation : 

"  Damme,  if  it  an't  Miggs  come  back !" 

The  young  damsel  whom  he  named  no  sooner 
heard  these  words,  than  deserting  a  very  smal. 
boy  and  a  very  large  box  by  whom  she  was  ac- 
companied, and  advancing  with  such  precipita- 
tion that  her  bonnet  flew  off  her  head,  burst  into 
the  room,  clasped  her  hands  (in  which  she  held 
a  pair  of  pattens,  one  in  each),  raised  her  eyea 
devotedly  to  the  ceiling,  and  shed  a  flood  of 
tears. 

"  The  old  story !"  cried  the  locksmith,  look- 
ing at  her  in  inexpressible  desperation.  "  Shf> 
was  born  to  be  a  damper,  this  young  woman  ! 
nothing  can  prevent  it !" 

"Ho,  master,  ho,  mim  !"  cried  INIiggs,  "can 
I  constrain  my  feelings  in  these  here  once  agin 
united  moments!  Ho,  Mr.  Warden,  here's 
blessedness  among  relations,  sir,  here  's  forgive- 
nesses of  injuries,  here's  amicablenesses  !" 

The  locksmith  looked  from  his  wife  to  Dolly, 
and  from  Dolly  to  Joe,  and  from  Joe  to  Miggs, 
with  his  eyebrows  still  elevated  and  his  mouth 
still  open:  when  his  eyes  got  back  to  Miggs, 
they  rested  on  her  ;  fascinated. 

"To  think,"  cried  Miggs  with  hysterical  joy, 
"that  Mr.  Joe,  and  dear  Miss  Dolly,  has  raly 
come  together  after  all  as  has  been  said  and 
done  contrairy  !  To  see  them  two  a  setlin' 
along  with  him  and  her,  so  pleasant  and  in  all 
respects  so  afliible  and  mild;  and  me  not  know- 
ing of  it,  and  not  being  in  the  ways  to  make  no 
preparations  for  their  teas.  Ho,  what  a  cutting 
thing  it  is,  and  yet  what  sweet  sensations  is 
awoke  within  me!" 

Either  in  clasping  her  hands  again,  or  in  an 
ecstasy  of  pious  joy.  Miss  Miggs  clinked  her 
pattens  after  the  mm'!  -r  of  a  pair  of  cymbal* 
at  this  juncture;  and  ihen  resumed  in  the  soft- 
est accents: 

"  And  did  my  missis  think — ho,  goodness,  did 
she  think — as  her  own  Miggs,  which  supported 
her  under  so  many  trials,  and  understood  her 


312 


BAPNABY     RUDGE. 


natur'  when  them  as  intended  well  but  acted 
rough,  went  so  deep  into  her  feelings — did  she 
think  as  her  own  Miggs  would  ever  leave  her? 
Did  she  think  as  Migo-s,  though  she  was  but  a 
servant,  and  knowed  that  servitudes  was  no  in- 
heritances, would  forgit  that  she  was  the  hum- 
ble instruments  as  always  made  it  comfortable 
between  them  two  when  they  fell  out,  and  al- 
ways told  master  of  the  meekness  and  forgive- 
ness of  her  blessed  di?positions?  Did  she  think 
as  Miggs  had  no  attachments'?  Did  she  think 
the  wages  was  her  only  object?" 

To  none  of  these  interrogatories,  whereof 
every  one  was  more  pathetically  delivered  than 
the  last,  did  Mrs.  Varden  answer  one  word  :  but 
JMiggs,  not  at  all  abashed  by  this  circumstance, 
turned  to  the  small  boy  in  attendance  —  her 
eldest  nephew;  son  of  her  own  married  sister; 
born  in  Golden  Lion  Court,  number  twenty- 
sivin;  and  bred  in  the  very  shadow  of  the 
second  bell-handle  on  the  right-hand  door-post 
—  and  \t'ith  a  plentiful  use  of  her  pocket  hand- 
kerchief, addressed  herself  to  him :  requesting 
that  on  his  return  home  he  would  console  his 
parents  for  the  loss  of  her,  his  aunt,  by  deliver- 
ing to  them  a  faithful  statement  of  his  having 
left  her  in  the  bosom  of  that  family,  with  which, 
as  his  aforesaid  parents  well  knew,  her  best  af- 
fections were  incorporated ;  that  he  would  re- 
mind them  that  nothing  less  than  her  imperious 
sense  of  duty,  and  devoted  attachment  to  her 
old  master  and  missis,  likewise  Miss  Dolly  and 
young  Mr.  Joe,  should  ever  have  induced  her  to 
decline  that  pressing  invitation,  which  they,  his 
parents,  had,  as  he  could  testify,  given  her,  to 
lodge  and  board  with  them,  free  of  all  cost  and 
charge,  for  evermore  ;  lastly,  that  he  would  help 
her  with  her  box  up  stairs,  and  then  repair 
straight  home,  bearing  her  blessing  and  her 
strong  injunctions  to  mingle  in  his  prayers  a 
supplication  that  he  might  in  course  of  time 
grow  up  a  locksmith,  or  a  Mr.  Joe,  and  have 
J\Irs.  Vardens,  and  Miss  Dollys  for  his  relations 
and  friends. 

Having  brought  this  admonition  to  an  end, 
upon  which,  to  say  the  truth,  the  young  gentle- 
man for  whose  benefit  it  was  designed,  bestow- 
ed little  or  no  heed,  having  to  all  appearance 
his  faculties  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  sweetmeats, — Miss  Miggs  signified  to  the 
company  in  general  that  they  were  not  to  be 
uneasy,  for  she  would  soon  return;  and,  with 
her  nephew's  aid,  prepared  to  bear  her  ward- 
robe up  the  staircase. 

"My  dear,"  said  the  locksmith  to  his  wife, 
"do  you  desire  this?" 

"  I  desire  it !"  she  ansv/ered.  "  I  am  aston- 
ished— I  am  amazed — at  her  audacity.  Let  her 
leave  the  house  this  moment." 

Miggs,  hearing  this,  let  her  end  of  the  box 
fall  heavily  to  the  floor,  and  gave  a  very  loud 
snifl',  crossed  her  arms,  screwed  down  the  cor- 
ners of  her  mouth,  and  cried,  in  an  ascending 
scale,  "Ho,  good  gracious  I"  three  'distinct 
times. 

"  You  hear  what  your  mistress  says,  my  love," 
remarked  the  locksmith.     "  You  had  better  go, 


I  think.    Stay;  lake  this  with  you,  for  the  sake 
of  old  service." 

Miss  Miggs  clntthed  the  bank-note  he  took 
from  his  pocket-book  and  held  out  to  her ;  depo- 
sited it  in  a  small,  red  leather  purse  ;  put  the 
purse  in  her  pocket  (displaying,  as  she  did  so,  a 
considerable  portion  of  some  under-garment, 
made  of  flannel,  and  more  black  cotton  stock- 
ing than  is  commonly  seen  in  public)  ;  and,  toss- 
ing her  head,  as  she  looked  at  Mrs.  Varden,  re- 
peated— 

"  Ho,  good  gracious  !" 

"  I  think  you  said  that  once  before,  my  dear," 
observed  the  locksmith. 

"Times  is  changed,  is  they,  mim  !"  cried 
Miggs,  bridling ;  "  you  can  spare  me  now,  can 
you?  Y^ou  can  keep  'em  down  without  me? 
Y'ou're  not  in  wants  of  any  one  to  scold,  or 
throw  the  blame  upon,  no  longer,  an't  you,  mim? 
I'm  glad  to  find  you've  grown  so  independent. 
I  wish  you  joy,  1  'm  sure  !" 

With  that  she  dropped  a  curtsey,  and  keep- 
ing her  head  erect,  her  ear  towards  Mrs.  Var- 
den, and  her  eye  on  the  rest  of  the  company,  as 
she  alluded  to  them  in  her  remarks,  proceeded : 

"I'm  quite  delighted,  I'm  sure,  to  find  sich 
independency,  feeling  sorry  though,  at  the  same 
time,  mim,  that  you  should  have  been  forced 
into  submissions  when  you  couldn't  help  your- 
self— he,  he,  he  !  It  must  be  great  vexations, 
'specially  considering  how  ill  you  always  spoke 
of  Mr.  Joe — to  have  him  for  a  son-in-law  at  last; 
and  I  wonder  Miss  Dolly  can  put  up  with  him, 
either,  after  being  off  and  on  for  so  many  years 
with  a  coach-maker.  But  I  have  lieerd  say  that 
tiie  coach-maker  thought  twice  about  it  —  he, 
he,  he  ! — and  that  he  told  a  young  man  as  waa 
a  friend  of  his,  that  he  hoped  he  knowed  better 
than  to  be  drawed  into  that ;  though  she  and  all 
the  family  did  pull  uncommon  strong  !" 

Here  she  paused  tor  a  reply,  and  receiving 
none,  went  on  as  before. 

"  I  have  heeid  say,  mim,  that  the  illnesses 
of  some  ladies  was  all  pretensions,  and  that 
tiiey  could  faint  away  stone-dead  whenever 
they  had  the  inclinations  so  to  do.  Of  course 
I  never  see  sich  cases  with  my  own  eyes — ho 
no!  He,  hp,  he  !  Nor  master  neither — ho  no! 
He,  he,  he!  I  have  heerd  the  neighbours  make 
remark  as  some  one  as  they  was  acquainted 
with,  was  a  poor  good-natur'd  mean-spirited 
creetur,  as  went  out  fishing  for  a  wife  one  day, 
and  caught  a  Tartar.  Of  course  I  never  to  my 
knowledge  see  tiie  poor  person  himself.  Nor 
did  you  neither,  mim — ho  no.  I  wonder  who  it 
can  be  —  don't  you,  mim?  No  doubt  you  do, 
mim.     Ho,  yes.     He,  he,  he  !" 

Again  Miggs  paused  for  a  reply ;  and  none 
being  offered,  was  so  oppressed  with  teeming 
spite  and  spleen,  that  she  seemed  like  to  burst. 

"I'm  glad  Miss  Dolly  can  laugh,"  cried 
Miggs  with  a  feeble  titter.  "  I  like  to  see  folka  j 
a  laughing — so  do  you,  mim,  don't  you?  You 
was  always  glad  to  see  people  in  spirits,  wasn't 
you,  mim  ?  And  you  always  did  your  best  to 
keep  'em  cheerful,  didn't  you,  mim  ?  Though 
there  an't  sich  a  great  deal  to  laugh  at  now, 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


313 


either ;  is  there,  miin  1  It  an't  so  much  of  a 
catch  after  looking  out  so  sliarp  ever  since  slie 
was  a  little  chit,  and  costing  such  a  deal  in 
dress  and  show,  to  get  a  poor,  common  soldier, 
with  one  arm,  is  it,  mim  1  lie,  he  !  1  wouldn't 
have  a  husband  with  one  arm,  anyways.  I 
would  have  two  arms.  1  would  have  two 
arm?,  if  it  was  me,  though  instead  of  hands 
they  'd  only  got  hooks  at  tlic  end,  like  our  dust- 
man." 

iViiss  Miggs  was  ahout  to  add,  and  had,  in- 
deed, beyun  to  add,  that,  taking  them  in  the 
nhstract,  dustmen  were  far  more  eligible  matches 
than  soldiers,  though,  to  be  sure,  when  people 
were  past  choosing  they  must  take  the  best  they 
could  get,  and  think  themselves  well  otf  too ; 
but  her  vexation  and  chagrin  being  of  that  in- 
ternally bitter  sort  which  finds  no  relief  in 
words,  and  is  aggravated  to  madness  by  want 
of  contradiction,  she  could  hold  out  no  longer, 
and  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears. 

In  this  extremity  she  fell  on  the  unlucky  ne- 
phew, tooth  and  nail,  and  plucking  a  handful  of 
hair  from  his  head,  demanded  to  know  how  long 


she  was  to  stand  there  to  be  insulted,  and  whe- 
ther or  no  he  meant  to  help  her  to  carry  out  the 
box  again,  and  if  he  took  a  pleasure  in  hearing 
his  family  reviled,  with  other  inquiries  of  that 
nature  :  at  which  disgrace  and  provocaticn,  the 
small  boy,  who  had  been  al'  this  time  gradually- 
lashed  into  rebellion  by  the  sight  of  unattaina- 
ble pastry,  walked  off  indignant,  leaving  his 
aunt  and  the  box  to  follow  at  their  leisure. 
Somehow  or  other,  by  dint  of  pushing  and  pull- 
ing, they  did  attain  the  street  at  last;  where 
Miss  Miggs,  all  blowzed  with  the  exertion  of 
getting  there,  and  with  her  sobs  and  tears,  sat 
down  upon  her  property ;  to  rest  and  grieve 
until  she  could  ensnare  some  other  youth  to  help 
her  home. 

"  It 's  a  thing  to  laugh  at,  Martha,  not  to  care 
for,"  whispered  the  locksmith,  as  he  followed 
his  wife  to  the  window,  and  good-humouredly 
dried  her  eyes.  "  What  does  it  matter  !  You 
had  seen  your  fault  before.  Come  !  Bring  up 
Toby  again,  my  dear;  Dolly  shall  sing  us  a 
song;  and  we'll  be  all  the  merrier  for  this  in- 
terruption." 


CHAPTER  THE  EIGHTY-FIRST. 


Another  month  had  passed,  and  the  end  of 
August  had  nearly  come,  when  Mr.  Haredale 
stood  alone  in  the  mail-coach  office  at  Bristol. 
Although  but  a  few  weeks  had  intervened  since 
his  conversation  with  Edward  Chester  and  his 
niece,  in  the  locksmith's  house,  and  he  had 
made  no  change,  in  the  meantime,  in  his  accus- 
tomed style  of  dress,  his  appearance  was  greatly 
altered.  He  looked  much  older,  and  more  care- 
worn. Violent  agitation  and  anxiety  of  mind 
scatter  wrinkles  and  grey  hairs  with  no  unspar- 
ing hand  ;  but  deeper  traces  follow  on  the  silent 
uprooting  of  old  habits,  and  severing  of  dear, 
familiar  ties.  The  affections  are  not  so  easily 
wounded  as  the  passions,  but  their  hurts  are 
deeper,  and  more  lasting.  He  was  now  a  soli- 
tary man,  and  the  heart  within  him  was  dreary 
and  lonesome. 

He  was  not  the  less  alone  for  having  spent  so 
many  years  in  seclusion  and  retirement.  This 
was  nc  better  preparation  than  a  round  of  social 
cheerfulness:  perhaps  it  even  increased  the 
keenness  of  his  sensibility.  He  had  been  so 
dependent  upon  her  for  companionship  and  love; 
she  had  come  to  be  so  much  a  part  and  parcel 
of  his  existence;  they  had  so  many  cares  and 
thoughts  in  common,  which  no  one  else  had 
shared  ;  that  losing  her  was  beginning  life  anew, 
and  being  required  to  summon  up  the  hope  and 
elasticity  of  youth,  amid  the  doubts,  distrusts, 
and  weakened  energies  of  age. 

The  eflbrt  he  had  made  to  part  from  her  with 
seeming  cheerfulness  and  hope — and  they  had 
parted  only  yesterday  —  left  him  the  more  de- 
pressed. With  these  feelings,  he  was  about  to  , 
revisit  London  for  the  last  time,  and  look  once 


more  upon  the  walls  of  their  old  home,  before 
turning  his  back  upon  it,  for  ever. 

The  journey  was  a  very  different  one  in  those 
days  from  what  the  present  generation  find  it; 
but  it  came  to  an  end,  as  the  longest  journey 
will,  and  he  stood  again  in  the  streets  of  the 
metropolis.  He  lay  at  the  inn  where  the  coach 
stopped,  and  resolved,  before  he  went  to  bed, 
that  he  would  make  his  arrival  known  to  no 
one;  v,  -juld  spend  but  another  night  in  London; 
and  would  spare  himself  the  pang  of  parting 
even  with  the  honest  locksmith. 

Such  conditions  of  the  mind  as  that  to  which 
he  was  a  prey  when  he  lay  down  to  rest,  are 
favourable  to  the  growth  of  disordered  fancies, 
and  uneasy  visions.  He  knew  this,  even  in  the 
horror  with  which  he  started  from  his  first  sleep, 
and  threw  up  the  window  to  dispel  it  by  the 
presence  of  some  object,  beyond  the  room,  which 
had  not  been,  as  it  were,  the  witness  of  his 
dream.  But  it  was  not  a  new  terror  of  the 
night;  it  had  been  present  to  him  before,  in 
many  shapes;  it  had  haunted  him  in  by-gone 
times,  and  visited  his  pillow  again  and  agrain. 
If  it  had  been  but  an  ugly  object,  a  childish 
spectre,  haunting  his  sleep,  its  return,  in  its  ok' 
form,  might  have  awakened  a  momentary  sensa- 
tion of  fear,  which,  almost  in  the  act  of  wakino, 
would  have  passed  away.  This  disquiet,  how- 
ever, lingered  about  him,  and  would  yield  lo 
nothing.  When  he  closed  his  eyes  again,  Iih 
felt  it  hovering  near;  as  he  slowly  sunk  into  a 
slumber,  he  was  conscious  of  its  gathering 
strength  and  purpose,  and  gradually  assuming 
its  recent  shape;  when  he  sprang  up  from  his 
bed,  the  same  phantom  vanished  from  his  heated 


314 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


I)rain,  and  left  him  filled  with  a  dread  against 
which  reason  and  waking  thought  were  power- 
less. 

The  sun  was  up  before  he  could  shake  it  off. 
He  rose  late,  but  not  refreshed,  and  remained 
within  doors  all  that  day.  He  had  a  fancy  for 
paying  his  last  visit  to  the  old  spot  in  the  even- 
ing, for  he  had  been  accustomed  to  walk  there 
at  that  season,  and  desired  to  see  it  under  the 
aspect  that  was  most  fiimiliar  to  him.  At  such 
an  hour  as  w-ould  afford  him  time  to  reach  it  a 
little  before  sunset,  he  left  the  inn,  and  turned 
into  the  busy  street. 

He  had  not  gone  far,  and  was  thoughtfully 
making  his  way  among  the  noisy  crowd,  when 
he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and,  turning, 
recognized  one  of  the  waiters  from  the  inn,  who 
begged  his  pardon,  but  he  had  left  his  sword 
behind  him. 

"  Why  have  you  brought  it  to  mel"  he  asked, 
stretching  out  his  hand,  and  yet  not  taking  it 
from  the  man,  but  looking  at  him  in  a  disturbed 
and  agitated  manner. 

The  man  was  sorry  to  have  disobliged  him, 
and  would  carry  it  back  again.  The  gentleman 
had  said  that  he  was  going  a  little  way  into  the 
((ountry,  and  that  he  might  not  return  till  late. 
The  roads  were  not  very  safe  for  single  travel- 
lers after  dark;  and  since  the  riots,  gentlemen 
had  been  more  careful  than  ever  not  to  trust 
themselves  unarmed  in  lonely  places.  "  We 
thought  you  were  a  stranger,  sir,"  he  added, 
"and  that  you  might  believe  our  roads  to  be 
better  than  they  are;  but  perhaps  you  know 
them  well,  and  carry  fire-arms — " 

He  took  the  sword,  and  putting  it  up  at  his 
side,  thanked  the  man,  and  resumed  his  walk. 

It  was  long  remembered  that  he  did  this  in  a 
manner  so  strange,  and  with  such  a  trembling 
hand,  that  the  messenger  stood  looking  after  his 
retreating  figure,  doubtful  whether  he  ought  not 
to  follow,  and  watch  him.  It  was  long  remem- 
bered that  he  had  hern  heard  pacing  his  bed- 
room in  the  dead  of  the  night;  that  the  attend- 
ants had  mentioned  to  each  other  in  the  morn- 
ing, how  fevered  and  how  pale  he  looked  ;  and 
that  when  this  man  went  back  to  the  inn,  he 
told  a  fellow-servant  that  what  he  had  observed 
in  this  short  interview  lay  very  heavy  on  his 
mind,  and  that  he  feared  the  gentleman  intended 
to  destroy  himself,  and  would  never  come  back 
alive. 

With  a  half-consciousness  that  his  manner 
had  attracted  the  man's  attention  (remembering 
the  expression  of  his  f\ice  when  they  parted), 
Mr.  Haredale  quickened  his  steps;  and  arriving 
at  a  stand  of  coaches,  bargained  with  the  driver 
of  the  best  to  carry  him  so  far  on  his  road  as 
the  point  where  the  foot-way  stiuck  across  the 
fields,  and  to  await  his  return  at  a  house  of  en- 
tertainment which  was  within  a  stone's-throw 
of  that  place.  Arriving  there  in  due  course,  he 
alighted  and  pursued  his  way  on  foot. 

He  passed  so  near  the  Maypole,  that  he  could 
Bee  its  smoke  rising  from  among  the  trees,  while 
a  flock  of  pigeons — some  of  its  old  inhabitants, 
doubtless — mailed  gaily  home  to  roost,  between 


him  and  the  unclouded  sky.  "The  old  hous« 
will  brighten  up  now,"  he  said,  as  he  looked 
towards  it,  "and  there  will  be  a  merry  fireside 
beneath  its  ivied  roof.  It  is  some  comfort  to 
know  that  everything  will  not  be  blighted  here- 
abouts. I  shall  be  glad  to  have  one  picture  of 
life  and  cheerfulness  to  turn  to!" 

He  resumed  his  walk,  and  bent  his  steps  to- 
wards the  Warren.  It  was  a  clear,  calm,  si- 
lent evening,  with  hardly  a  breath  of  wind  to 
stir  the  leaves,  or  any  sound  to  break  the  still- 
ness of  the  time,  but  drowsy  sheep-bells,  tink- 
ling in  the  distance,  and  at  intervals  the  far-off 
lowing  of  cattle,  or  bark  of  village  dogs.  The 
sky  radiant  with  the  softened  glory  of  sunset; 
and  on  the  earth,  and  the  air,  a  deep  repose  pre- 
vailed. At  such  an  hour,  he  arrived  at  the 
deserted  mansion  which  had  been  his  home  so 
long,  and  looked  for  the  last  time  upon  its  black- 
ened walls. 

The  ashes  of  the  commonest  fire  are  melan- 
choly things,  for  in  them  there  is  an  image  of 
death  and  ruin, — of  something  that  has  been 
bright,  and  is  but  dull,  cold,  dreary  dust, — 
with  which  our  nature  forces  us  to  sympathize. 
How  much  more  sad  the  crumbled  embers  of  a 
home  :  the  casting  down  of  that  great  altar, 
where  the  worst  among  us  sometimes  perform 
the  worship  of  the  heart;  and  where  the  best 
have  offered  up  such  sacrifices,  and  done  such 
deeds  of  heroism  as,  chronicled,  would  put  the 
proudest  temples  of  old  Time,  with  all  theii 
vaunting  annals,  to  the  blush! 

He  roused  himself  from  a  long  train  of  incdi 
tation,  and  walked  slowly  round  the  house.  Il 
was  by  this  time  almost  dark. 

He  had  nearly  made  the  circuit  of  the  build- 
ing, when  he  uttered  a  half-suppressed  excla- 
mation, started,  and  stood  still.  Reclining,  in 
an  easy  attitude,  with  his  back  against  a  tree, 
and  contemplating  the  ruin  with  an  expression 
of  exquisite  pleasure, — a  pleasure  so  keen  that 
it  overcame  his  habitual  indolence  and  command 
of  feature,  and  displayed  itself  utterly  free  from 
all  restraint  or  reserve, — before  him,  on  his  own 
ground,  and  triumphing  over  him  then,  as  he 
had  done  in  every  misfortune  and  disappoint- 
ment of  his  life,  there  stood  the  man  whose 
presence,  of  all  mankind,  in  any  place,  and  least 
of  all  in  that,  he  could  the  least  endure. 

Although  his  blood  so  rose  against  this  man, 
and  his  wrath  so  stirred  within  him,  that  he 
could  have  struck  hiin  dead,  lie  put  such  fierce 
constraint  upon  himself  that  he  passed  him 
without  a  word  or  look.  Yes,  and  he  would 
have  gone  on,  and  not  turned,  though  to  resist 
the  Devil  who  poured  such  hot  temptation  in  his 
brain,  required  an  effort  scarcely  human,  if  this 
man  had  not  himself  summoned  him  to  stop: 
and  that,  with  an  assumed  compassion  in  his 
voice  which  drove  him  well-nigh  mad,  and  in 
an  instant  routed  all  the  self-command  it  had 
been  anguish  —  acute,  poignant  anguish  —  tc 
sustain. 

All  consideration,  reflection,  mercy,  lorbear- 
ance;  everything  by  which  a  goaded  man  can 
curb  his  rage  and  passion ;  fled  from  him  as  he 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


315 


turned  back.  And  yet  he  said,  slowly  and 
quite  calmly — far  more  calmly  than  he  had 
ever  spoken  to  him  before: 

"  Why  have  you  called  to  me]" 

"To  remark,"  said  Sir  John  Chester  with 
his  wonted  composure,  "  what  an  odd  chance 
it  is,  that  we  should  meet  here!" 

"  It  is  a  stranore  chance." 

"Strantre!  The  most  remarkable  and  sinn^u- 
lar  thin^  in  the  world.  I  never  ride  in  the  even- 
ing; I  have  not  done  so  for  years.  The  whim 
seized  me,  quite  unaccountably,  in  the  middle 
of  last  night. — How  very  picturesque  this  is  !" 
— He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  dismantled 
house,  and  raised  his  glass  to  his  eye. 

"  You  praise  your  own  work  very  freely." 

Sir  John  let  fall  his  glass;  inclined  his  fece 
towards  him  with  an  air  of  the  most  courteous 
inquiry;  and  slightly  shook  his  head  as  though 
he  were  remarking  to  himself,  "  I  fear  this  ani- 
mal is  going  mad  !" 

"  I  say  you  praise  your  own  work  very  freely," 
repeated  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Work  !"  echoed  Sir  John,  looking  smilingly 
round.  "Mine! — I  beg  your  pardon,  I  really 
beg  your  pardon — " 

"  Why  you  see"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  those 
walls.  You  see  those  tottering  gables.  You 
see  on  every  side  where  fire  and  smoke  have 
raged.  You  see  the  destruction  that  has  been 
wanton  here.     Do  you  not?" 

"  My  good  fellow,"  returned  the  knight, 
gently  checking  his  impatience  with  his  hand, 
"  of  course  I  do.  I  see  everything  you  speak 
of,  when  you  stand  aside,  and  do  not  interpose 
yourself  between  the  view  and  me.  I  am  very 
sorry  for  you.  If  I  had  not  the  pleasure  to  meet 
you  here,  I  think  I  should  have  written  to  tell 
you  so.  But  you  don't  bear  it  as  well  as  I  had 
expected — excuse  me — no,  you  don't  indeed." 

He  pulled  out  his  snuff-box,  and  addressing 
him  with  the  superior  air  of  a  man  who  by  rea- 
son of  his  higher  nature  has  a  right  to  read  a 
moral  lesson  to  anuther,  continued  : 

"For  you  are  a  philosopher,  you  know — one 
of  that  stern  and  rigid  school  who  are  far  above 
the  weaknesses  of  mankind  in  general.  You 
are  removed,  a  long  way,  from  the  frailties  of 
the  crowd.  You  contemplate  them  from  a 
height,  and  rail  at  them  with  a  most  impressive 
bitterness.     I  have  heard  you." 

— "And  snail  again,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"Thank  you,"  returned  the  other.  "Shall 
we  walk  as  we  talk  1  The  damp  falls  rather 
heavily.  Well, — as  you  please.  But  I  grieve 
to  say  that  I  can  spare  you  only  a  very  few 
moments." 

"I  would,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "you  had 
spared  me  none.  I  would,  with  all  my  soul, 
you  had  been  in  Paradise  (if  such  a  monstrous 
lie  could  be  enacted,)  rather  than  here  to- 
night." 

"Nay,"  returned  the  other — "really — you 
do  yourself  injustice.  You  are  a  rough  com- 
l)anion,  but  I  would  not  go  so  far  to  avoid  you." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  Listen 
to  me  " 


"While  you  raiH"  inquired  Sir  John. 

"  While  I  deliver  your  infamy.  You  urged 
and  stimulated  to  do  your  work  a  fit  agent,  but 
one  who  in  his  nature — in  the  very  essence  of 
his  being — is  a  traitor,  and  who  has  been  false 
to  you,  despite  the  sympathy  you  two  should 
have  together,  as  he  has  been  to  all  others. 
With  hints,  and  looks,  and  crafty  words,  which 
told  again  are  nothing,  you  set  on  Gashf  jrd  to 
this  work  —  this  work  before  us  now.  With 
these  same  iiints,  and  looks,  and  crafty  words, 
which  told  again  are  nothing,  you  urged  him  on 
to  gratify  the  deadly  hate  he  owes  me — I  havo 
earned  it,  I  thank  Heaven — by  the  abduction 
and  dishonour  of  my  niece.  You  did.  I  see 
denial  in  your  looks" — he  cried,  abruptly  point- 
ing in  his  face,  and  stepping  back.  "Denial 
is  a  lie!" 

He  had  his  hand  upon  his  sword  ;  but  the 
knight,  with  a  contemptuous  smile,  replied  to 
him  as  coldly  as  before. 

"  You  will  take  notice  sir — if  you  can  discri- 
minate sufficiently — that  I  have  taken  the  trou- 
ble to  deny  nothing.  Your  discernment  is  hard- 
ly fine  enough  for  the  perusal  of  faces,  not  of  a 
kind  as  coarse  as  your  speech;  nor  has  it  ever 
been,  that  I  remember;  or,  in  one  face  that  I 
could  name,  you  would  have  read  indifference, 
not  to  say  disgust,  somewhat  sooner  than  you 
did.  1  speak  of  a  long  time  ago, — but  you  un- 
derstand me." 

"  Disguise  it  as  you  will,  you  mean  denial. 
Denial  explicit  or  reserved,  expressed  or  left  to 
be  inferred,  is  still  a  lie.  You  say  you  don't 
deny.     Do  you  admit?" 

"  You  yourself,"  returned  Sir  John,  suffering 
the  current  of  his  speech  to  flow  as  smoothly  as 
if  it  had  been  stemmed  by  no  one  word  of  in- 
terruption, "  publicly  proclaimed  the  character 
of  the  gentleman  in  question  (I  think  it  was  in 
Westminster  Hall)  in  terms  which  relieve  me 
from  the  necessity  of  making  any  further  allu- 
sion to  him.  You  may  have  been  warranted ; 
you  may  not  have  been  ;  I  can't  say.  Assum- 
ing the  gentleman  to  be  what  you  described, 
and  to  have  made  to  you  or  any  other  person 
any  statements  that  may  have  happened  to  sug- 
gest themselves  to  him,  for  the  sake  of  his  own 
security,  or  for  the  sake  of  money,  or  for  hia 
own  amusement,  or  for  any  other  consideration, 
— I  have  nothing  to  say  of  him,  except  that  his 
extremely  degrading  situation  appears  to  me  to 
be  shared  with  his  employers.  You  are  so  very 
plain  yourself,  that  you  will  excuse  a  little  free- 
dom in  me,  I  am  sure." 

"Attend  to  me  again  Sir  John  —  but  once," 
cried  Mr.  Haredale;  "in  your  every  look,  and 
word,  and  gesture,  you  tell  me  this  was  not  your 
act.  I  tell  you  that  it  was,  and  that  you  tam- 
pered with  the  man  I  Fpeak  of,  and  with  your 
wretched  son  (whom  God  forgive),  to  do  this 
deed.  You  talk  of  degradation  and  character. 
You  told  me  once  that  you  had  purchased  the 
absence  of  the  poor  idiot  and  his  mother,  when 
(as  I  have  discovered  since,  and  then  suspected) 
you  iiad  gone  to  tempt  them,  and  had  found  them 
flown.    To  you  I  traced  the  insinuation  that  I 


316 


BARNABY    RUDGE, 


alone  reaped  any  harvest  from  my  brother's 
death;  and  all  the  foul  attacks  and  whispered 
calumnies  that  followed  in  its  train.  In  every 
action  of  my  life,  from  that  first  hope  vviiich  you 
converted  into  grief  and  desolation,  you  have 
stood,  like  an  adverse  fate,  between  me  and 
peace.  In  all,  you  have  ever  been  the  same 
cold-blooded,  hollow,  false,  unworthy  villain. 
For  the  second  time,  and  for  the  last,  1  cast 
these  charges  in  your  teeth,  and  spurn  you  from 
me  as  I  would  a  faithless  dog  !" 

With  that,  he  raised  his  arm,  and  struck  him 
on  the  breast  so  that  he  staggered  back.  Sir 
John,  the  instant  he  recovered,  drew  his  sword, 
threw  away  the  scabbard  and  his  hat,  and  rush- 
ing on  his  adversary  made  a  desperate  lunge  at 
his  heart,  which,  but  that  iiis  guard  was  quick 
and  true,  would  have  stretched  him  dead  upon 
the  grass. 

In  the  act  of  striking  him,  the  torrent  of  his 
opponent's  rage  had  reached  a  stop.  He  parried 
his  rapid  thrusts,  without  returning  them,  and 
called  to  him  with  a  frantic  kind  of  terror  in  his  , 
face  to  keep  back.  I 

"  Not  to-night !  not  to-night !"  he  cried.  "  In 
God's  name,  not  to-night !" 

Seeing  that  he  lowered  his  weapon,  and  that 
he  would  not  thrust  in  turn.  Sir  John  lowered  his. 

"I  warn  you,  not  to-night!"  his  adversary 
cried.     "  Be  warned  in  time  !" 

"  Yon  told  me  —  it  must  have  been  in  a  sort 
of  inspiration — "  said  Sir  John,  quite  deliberate- 
ly, though  now  he  dropped  his  mask,  and  show- 
ed his  bitter  hatred  in  his  face,  "  that  this  was 
the  last  time.  Be  assured  it  is !  Did  you  be- 
lieve our  last  meeting  was  forgotten  ?  Did  you 
believe  that  your  every  word  and  look  was  not 
to  be  accounted  for,  and  was  not  well  remem- 
bered ■?  Do  you  believe  that  I  have  waited  your 
time,  or  you  mine  ■?  What  kind  of  man  is  he 
who  entered,  with  all  his  sickening  cant  of 
honesty  and  truth,  into  a  bond  with  me  to  pre- 
vent a  marriage  he  affected  to  dislike,  and  when 
I  had  redeemed  my  part  to  the  spirit  and  the 
letter,  skulked  from  his,  and  brought  the  match 
about  in  his  own  time,  to  rid  himself  of  a  bur- 
den he  had  grown  tired  of,  and  cast  a  spurious 
lustre  on  his  house?" 

"  I  ha"e  acted,"  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  "  with 
honour  and  m  good  faith.  I  do  so  now.  Do  not 
force  mo  to  renew  this  duel  to-niffht !" 


"  You  said  my  'wretched'  son,  I  think  V  said 
Mr.  Chester,  with  a  smile.  "  Poor  fool  !  The 
dupe  of  such  a  shallow  knave — trapped  inta 
marriage  by  such  an  uncle  and  by  such  a  niece 
—  he  well  deserves  your  pity.  But  he  is  no 
longer  son  of  mine :  you  are  welcome  to  the 
prize  your  craft  has  made,  sir." 

"Once  more,"  cried  his  opponent,  wildly 
stamping  on  the  ground,  "  although  you  tear  me 
from  my  better  angel,  I  implore  you  not  to  come 
within  the  reach  of  my  sword  to-night.  Oh ! 
why  were  you  here  at  all !  Why  have  we  met! 
To-morrow  would  have  cast  us  lar  apart  for 
ever!" 

"  That  being  the  case,"  returned  Sir  John, 
without  the  least  emotion,  "  it  is  very  fortunite 
we  have  met  to-night,  Haredale,  1  have  al 
ways  despised  you,  as  you  know,  but  I  hava 
given  you  credit  for  a  species  of  brute  courage 
For  the  honour  of  my  judgment,  which  I  had 
thought  a  good  one,  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  a 
coward." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  on  cither  side. 
They  crossed  swords,  though  it  was  now  quite 
dusk,  and  attacked  each  other  fiercely.  Thej 
were  well  matched.  Each  was  skilled  in  th* 
management  of  his  weapon.  Mr.  Haredale  ha(f 
the  advantage  in  strength  and  height ;  on  th* 
other  hand  his  adversary  could  boast  superior 
address,  and  certainly  a  greater  share  of  cool 
ness. 

After  a  few  seconds  they  grew  hotter  and 
more  furious,  and  pressing  on  each  other  in- 
flicted and  received  several  slight  wounds.  It 
was  directly  after  receiving  one  of  these  in  his 
arm,  that  Mr.  Haredale,  making  a  keener  thrust 
as  he  felt  the  warm  blood  spirting  out,  plunged 
his  sword  through  his  opponent's  body  to  the 
hilt. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  were  on  each  other  as 
he  drew  it  out.  He  put  his  arm  about  the  dy- 
ing man,  who  repulsed  him,  feebly,  and  dropped 
upon  the  turf.  liaising  himself  upon  his  hands, 
he  gazed  al  him  for  an  instant,  with  scorn  and 
hatred  in  his  look:  but  seeming  to  remember, 
even  then,  that  this  expression  would  distort  his 
features  after  death,  he  tried  to  smile ;  and,  faint- 
ly moving  his  right  hand,  as  if  to  hide  his  bloody 
linen  in  his  vest,  fell  back  dead — the  phantom 
of  last  night. 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


ai7 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 


A  PARTING  glance  atsuchof  tne  actors  in  this 
little  history  as  it  has  not,  in  the  course  of  its 
events,  disinir;sed,  will  brintr  it  to  an  end. 

Mr.  Haredale  fled  that  night.  Before  pursuit 
could  be  begun,  indeed  before  Sir  John  was 
traced  or  missed,  he  had  left  the  kingdon.  Re- 
pairing straiglit  to  a  religious  establishment, 
known  throughout  Europe  for  the  rigour  and 
severity  of  its  discipline,  and  for  the  merciful 
penitence  it  exacted  from  those  who  sought  its 
shelter  as  a  refuge  from  the  world,  he  took  the 
vows  which  thenceforth  shut  him  out  from  na- 
ture and  his  kind,  and  after  a  few  remorseful 
years  was  buried  in  its  gloomy  cloisters. 

Two  days  elapsed  before  the  body  of  Sir  John 
was  found.  As  soon  as  it  was  recognised  and 
carried  home,  the  faithful  valet,  true  to  his  mas- 
ter's creed,  eloped  with  all  the  cash  and  mova- 
bles he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  started  as  a 
finished  gentleman  upon  his  own  account.  In 
this  career  he  met  with  great  success,  and  would 
certainly  have  married  an  heiress  in  the  end, 
but  for  an  unlucky  check  which  led  to  his  pre- 
mature decease.  He  sank  under  a  contagious 
disorder,  very  prevalent  at  that  time,  and  vul- 
garly termed  the  jail  fever. 

Lord  George  Gordon,  remaining  in  his  prison 
in  the  Tower' until  Monday  the  Fifth  of  Febru- 
ary in  the  following  year,  was  on  that  day 
solemnly  tried  at  Westminster  for  High  Trea- 
son. Of  this  crime  he  was,  after  a  patient  in- 
vestigation, declared  Not  Guilty ;  upon  the 
ground  that  there  was  no  proof  of  his  having 
called  the  multitude  together  with  any  traitorous 
or  unlawful  intentions.  Yet  so  many  people 
were  there  still,  to  whom  those  riots  taught  no 
lesson  of  reproof  or  moderation,  that  a  public 
subscription  was  set  on  foot  in  Scotland  to  de- 
fray the  cost  of  his  defence. 

For  seven  years  afterwards  he  remained,  at 
the  strong  intercession  of  his  friends,  compara- 
tively quiet;  saving  that  he  every  now  and  then 
took  occasion  to  display  his  zeal  for  the  Protest- 
ant faith  in  some  extravagant  proceeding  which 
was  the  delight  of  its  enemies ;  and  saving,  be- 
sides, that  he  was  formally  excommunicated  by 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  for  refusing  to 
appear  as  a  witness  in  the  Ecclesiastical  Court 
when  cited  for  that  purpose.  In  the  year  1788 
he  was  stimulated  by  some  new  insanity  to 
write  and  publish  an  injurious  pamphlet,  reflect- 
ing on  the  Queen  of  France,  in  very  violent 
terms.  Being  indicted  for  the  libel,  and  (after 
various  strangre  demonstrations  in  court)  found 
guilty,  he  fled  into  Holland  in  place  of  appear- 
ing to  receive  sentence:  from  whence,  as  the 
quiet  burgomasters  of  Amsterdam  had  no  relish 
for  his  company,  he  was  sent  home  again  with 
all  speed.  Arriving  in  the  month  of  July  at 
Harwich,  and  going  thence  to  Birmingham, 
he  made  in  the  latter  place,  in  August,  a  public 


profession  of  the  Jewish  religion ;  and  figured 
there  as  a  Jew  until  he  was  arrested,  and 
brought  back  to  London  to  receive  the  sentence 
he  had  evaded.  By  virtue  of  this  sentence  he 
was,  in  the  month  of  December,  cast  into  New- 
gate for  five  years  and  ten  months,  and  required 
besides  to  pay  a  large  fine,  and  to  furnish  lieavy 
securities  for  his  future  good  behaviour. 

After  addressing,  in  the  midsummer  of  the 
following  year,  an  appeal  to  the  commiseration 
of  the  National  Assembly  of  France,  which  the 
English  minister  refused  to  sanction,  he  com- 
posed himself  to  undergo  his  full  term  of  punish- 
ment ;  and  suffering  his  beard  to  grow  nearly 
to  his  waist,  and  conforming  in  all  respects  to 
the  ceremonies  of  his  new  religion,  he  applied 
himself  to  the  study  of  history,  and  occasion- 
ally to  the  art  of  painting,  in  which,  in  his 
younger  days,  he  had  shown  some  skill.  De- 
serted by  his  former  friends,  and  treated  in  all 
respects  like  the  worst  criminal  in  the  jail,  he 
lingered  on,  quite  cheerful  and  resigned,  until 
the'^lst  of  November  1793,  when  he  died  in  his 
cell,  being  then  only  three-and-forty  years  of 
age. 

Many  men  with  fewer  sympathies  for  the  dis- 
tressed and  needy,  with  less  abilities  and  harder 
hearts,  have  made  a  shining  figure  and  left  a 
brilliant  fame.  He  had  his  mourners.  The 
prisoners  bemoaned  his  loss,  and  missed  him; 
for  though  his  means  were  not  large  his  cha- 
rity was  great,  and  in  bestowing  alms  among 
them  he  considered  the  necessities  of  all  dUke, 
and  knew  no  distinction  of  sect  or  creed.  There 
are  wise  men  in  the  highways  of  the  world  v.ho 
may  learn  something,  even  from  this  poor  crazy 
Lord  who  died  in  Newgate. 

To  the  last,  he  was  truly  served  by  bluff  John 
Grueby.  He  was  at  his  side  before  he  had 
been  four-and-twenty  hours  in  the  Tower,  and 
he  never  left  him  until  he  died.  He  had  one 
other  constant  attendant,  in  the  person  of  a  beau- 
tiful Jewish  girl ;  who  attached  herself  to  him 
from  feelings  half  religious,  half  romantic,  hut 
whose  virtuous  and  disinterested  character  ap- 
pears to  have  been  beyond  the  censure  even  of 
the  most  censorious. 

Gashford  deserted  him,  of  course.  He  sub- 
sisted for  a  time  upon  his  traffic  in  his  master's 
secrets;  and,  this  trade  failing  when  the  stock 
was  quite  exhausted,  procured  an  appointment 
in  the  honourable  corps  of  spies  and  eaves- 
droppers employed  by  the  government.  As 
one  of  these  wretched  unoerlings,  he  did  this 
drudgery,  sometimes  abroad,  sometimes  al 
home;  and  long  endured  the  various  miseries 
of  such  a  station.  Ten  or  a  dozen  years  ago — 
not  more  —  a  meagre,  wan  old  man,  diseased 
and  miserably  poor,  was  found  Jead  in  his  bed 
at  an  obscure  inn  in  theBoroutrh,  where  he  was 
quite  unknown.     He  had  taken  poison.    There 


SI» 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


was  no  clue  to  his  name;  but  it  was  discovered 
from  cerlain  entries  in  a  pocket-book  he  carried, 
that  he  had  been  secretary  to  Lord  George  Gor- 
don in  the  time  of  the  famous  riots. 

Many  months  after  the  re-establishment  of 
peace  and  order;  and  even  when  it  had  ceased 
to  be  the  town  talk,  that  every  military  ofhcer, 
kept  at  free  quarters  by  the  city  during  the  late 
alarms,  had  cost  for  his  board  and  lodging  four 
pounds  four  per  day,  and  every  private  soldier 
two  and  twopence  halfpenny;  many  months 
after  even  tliis  engrossing  topic  was  forgotten, 
and  the  United  Bull-Dogs  were  to  a  man  all 
killed,  imprisoned  or  transported ;  Mr.  Simon 
Tappertit,  being  removed  from  a  hospital  to 
prison,  and  thence  to  his  place  of  trial,  was  dis- 
charged by  proclamation,  on  two  wooden  legs. 
Shorn  of  his  graceful  limbs,  and  brought  down 
from  his  higii  estate  to  circumstances  of  utter 
destitution,  and  the  deepest  misery,  he  made 
shift  to  stump  back  to  his  old  master,  and  beg 
for  some  relief.  By  the  locksmith's  advice  and 
aid,  he  was  established  in  business  as  a  shoe- 
black, and  opened  shop  under  an  archway  near 
the  Horse  Guards.  This  being  a  central  quar- 
ter, he  quickly  made  a  very  large  connection ; 
and  on  levee  days,  was  sometimes  known  to 
have  as  many  as  twenty  half-pay  officers  wait- 
int,  their  turn  for  polishing.  Indeed  his  trade 
increased  to  that  extent,  that  in  course  of  time 
he  entertained  no  less  than  two  apprentices,  be- 
sides taking  for  his  wife  the  widow  of  an  emi- 
mtnt  bone  and  rag  collector,  formerly  of  Mil- 
bank.  AVith  this  lady  (who  assisted  in  the 
business)  he  lived  in  great  domestic  happiness, 
only  chequered  by  those  little  storms  which 
serve  to  clear  the  atmosphere  of  wedlock,  and 
brighten  its  horizon.  In  some  of  these  gusts 
of  bad  weather,  Mr.  Tappertit  would,  in  the 
assertion  of  his  prerogative,  so  far  forget  him- 
self, as  to  correct  his  lady  with  a  brush,  or  boot, 
or  shoe;  while  she  (but  only  in  extreme  cases) 
would  retaliate  by  taking  off  his  legs,  and  leav- 
ing him  exposed  to  the  derision  of  those  urchins 
who  delight  in  mischief. 

Miss  JNIiggs,  baffled  in  all  her  schemes,  mat- 
rimonial and  otherwise,  and  cast  upon  a  thank- 
less, undeserving  world,  turned  very  sharp  and 
sour;  and  did  at  length  become  so  acid,  and  did 
so  pinch  and  slap  and  tweak  the  hair  and  noses 
of  the  youth  of  Golden  Lion  Court,  that  she 
was  by  one  consent  expelled  that  sanctuary, 
and  desired  to  bless  some  other  spot  of  earth, 
in  preference.  It  chanced  at  that  moment,  that 
the  justices  of  the  peace  for  Middlesex  pro- 
claimed by  public  placard  that  they  stood  in 
need  of  a  female  turnkey  for  the  County  Bride- 
well, and  appointed  a  day  and  hour  for  the  in- 
spection of  candidates.  Miss  Miggs,  attending 
at  the  time  appointed,  was  instantly  chosen  and 
selected  from  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  com- 
petitors, and  at  once  promoted  to  the  office; 
which  she  held  until  her  decease,  more  than 
thirty  years  afterwards,  remaining  single  all 
tkat  time.  It  was  observed  of  this  lady  that 
while  she  was  inflexible  and  grim  to  all  her 
female  flock,  she  was  particularly  so  to  those 


who  could  establish  any  claim  to  beauty;  anil 
it  was  often  remarked  as  a  proof  of  her  indo- 
mitable virtue  and  severe  chastity,  that  lo  such 
as  had  been  frail  she  showed  no  mercy;  always 
falling  upon  them  on  the  slightest  occasion,  or 
on  no  occasion  at  all,  with  the  fullest  measure 
of  her  wrath.  Among  other  useful  inventions 
which  she  practised  upon  this  class  of  offenders 
and  bequeathed  to  posterity,  was  the  art  of  in- 
flicting an  exquisitely  vicious  poke  or  dig  with 
the  wards  of  a  key  in  the  small  of  the  back, 
near  the  spine.  She  likewise  originated  a  mode 
of  treading  by  accident  (in  pattens)  on  such  as 
had  small  feet;  also  very  remarkable  for  its  in- 
genuity, and  previously  quite  unknown. 

It  was  not  very  long,  you  may  be  sure,  be- 
fore Joe  Willet  and  Dolly  Varden  were  made 
husband  and  wife,  and  with  a  handsome  sum  in 
bank  (for  the  locksmith  could  afford  to  give  his 
daughter  a  good  dowry),  re-opened  the  May- 
pole. It  was  not  very  long,  you  may  be  sure, 
before  a  red-faced  little  boy  was  seen  stagger- 
ing about  the  Maypole  passage,  and  kicking  up 
his  heels  on  the  green  before  the  door,  it  was 
not  very  long,  counting  by  years,  before  there 
was  a  red-faced  little  girl,  another  red-faced 
little  boy,  and  a  whole  troop  of  girls  and  boys : 
so  that,  go  to  Chigwell  when  you  would,  there 
would  surely  be  seen,  either  in  the  village 
street,  or  on  the  green,  or  frolicking  in  the  farm- 
yard— for  it  was  a  farm  now,  as  well  as  a  tavern 
— more  small  Joes  and  small  Dollys  than  could 
be  easily  counted.  It  was  not  a  very  long  time 
before  these  appearances  ensued;  butitwiasa 
very  long  time  before  Joe  looked  five  years 
older,  or  Dolly  either,  or  the  locksmith  either, 
or  his  wife  either:  for  cheerfulness  and  content 
are  great  beautifiers,  and  are  famous  preservers 
of  youthful  looks,  depend  upon  it. 

It  was  a  long  time,  too,  before  there  was  such 
a  country  inn  as  the  Maypole,  in  all  England  : 
indeed  it  is  a  great  question  whether  there  has 
ever  been  such  another  to  this  hour,  or  ever 
will  be.  It  was  a  long  time  too — for  Never,  as 
the  proverb  says,  is  a  long  day  —  before  they 
forgot  to  have  an  interest  in  wounded  soldiers 
at  the  Maypole ;  or  before  Joe  omitted  to  re- 
fresh them,  tor  the  sake  of  his  old  campaign; 
or  before  the  serjeant  left  oft"  looking  in  there, 
now  and  then;  or  before  they  fatigued  them- 
selves, or  each  other,  by  talking  on  these  occa- 
sions of  battles  and  sieges,  and  hard  weather 
and  hard  service,  and  a  thousand  things  belong- 
ing to  a  soldier's  life.  As  lo  the  great  silver 
snuff'-box  which  the  King  sent  Joe  with  his  own 
hand,  because  of  his  conduct  in  the  Riots,  what 
guest  ever  went  to  the  Maypole  without  putting 
finger  and  thumb  into  that  box,  and  taking  a 
great  pinch,  though  he  had  never  taken  a  pinch 
of  snuff  before,  and  almost  sneezed  himself  into 
convulsions  even  then  ]  As  to  the  purple-faced 
vintner,  where  is  the  man  who  lived  in  those 
times  and  never  saw  him  at  the  Maypole:  to 
all  appearance  as  much  at  home  in  the  best 
room,  as  if  he  lived  there  1  And  as  to  the 
feastings  and  christenings,  and  revellings  at 
Christmas,  and  celebrations  of  birth-days,  wed 


BARNABY    RUDGE. 


319 


dinfT-days,  and  all  manner  of  days,  both  at  the 
I     Maypole  and  the  Golden  Key, — if  they  are  not 
notorious;,  what  facts  are] 

Mr.  Willet  the  elder,  having  been  by  some 
extraordinary  means  possessed  with  the  idea 
tliat  Joe  wanted  to  be  married,  and  that  it  would 
be  well  for  him,  his  father,  to  retire  into  private 
life,  and  enable  him  to  live  in  comfort,  took  up 
his  abode  in  a  small  cottage  atChigwell;  where 
they  widened  and  enlarged  the  fire-place  for 
hill),  hung  up  the  holier,  and  furthermore  plant- 
ed in  the  little  garden  outside  the  front-door,  a 
fictitious  Maypole:  so  that  he  was  quite  at  home 
directly.  To  this,  his  new  habitation,  Tom 
Cobh,  Phil  Parks,  and  Solomon  Daisy  went 
regularly  every  night — and  in  the  chinniey-cor- 
ner,  they  all  four  quaflfed,  and  smoked,  and 
prosed,  and  dozed,  as  they  had  done  of  old.  It 
being  accidentally  discovered  after  a  short  time 
that  Mr.  Willet  still  appeared  to  consider  him- 
self a  landlord  by  profession,  Joe  provided  him 
with  a  slate,  upon  which  the  old  man  regularly 
scored  up  vast  accounts  for  meat,  drink,  and 
tobacco.  As  he  grew  older,  this  passion  in- 
creased upon  him:  and  it  became  his  delight 
to  chalk  aofainst  the  name  of  each  of  liis  cronies 
a  sum  of  enormous  magnitude,  and  impossible 
to  be  paid  :  and  such  was  his  secret  joy  in  these 
entries,  that  he  would  be  perpetually  seen  going 
behind  the  door  to  look  at  them,  and  coming 
forth  again,  suffused  with  the  liveliest  satis- 
faction. 

He  never  recovered  the  surprise  the  Rioters 
had  given  him,  and  remained  in  the  same  men- 
tal condition  down  to  the  last  moment  of  his 
life.  It  was  like  to  have  been  brought  to  a 
speedy  termination  by  the  first  sigfht  of  his  first 
grand-child,  which  appeared  to  fill  him  with  the 
belief  that  a  miracle  had  happened  to  Joe,  and 
that  something  alarming  had  occurred.  Being 
promptly  blooded,  however,  by  a  skilful  sur- 
geon, he  rallied  ;  and  although  the  doctors  all 
agreed,  on  his  being  attacked  with  symptoms  of 
apoplexy  six  months  afterwards,  that  he  ought 
to  die,  and  took  it  very  ill  that  he  did  not,  he 
remained  alive — possibly  on  account  of  his  con- 
stitutional slowness  —  for  nearly  seven  years 
more,  when  he  was  one  morning  found  speech- 
less in  his  bed.  He  lay  in  tliis  state,  free  from 
all  tokens  of  uneasiness,  for  a  whole  week, 
when  he  was  suddenly  restored  to  conscious 
ness  by  hearing  the  nurse  whisper  in  his  son's 
ear  that  he  was  going.  "I'm  a-going,  Joseph," 
said  I\Ir.Willet,  turning  round  upon  the  instant, 
"  to  the  Salwanners" — and  immediately  gave 
up  the  ghost. 

He  left  a  large  sum  of  money  behind  him  ; 
even  more  than  he  was  supposed  to  have  been 
worth,  although  the  neighbours,  according  to 
the  custom  of  mankind  in  calculating  the  wealth 
<hat  other  people  ought  to  have  saved,  had  es- 
fimated  his  property  in  good  round  numbers. 
Joe  inherited  the  whole;  so  that  he  became  a 
man  of  great  consequence  in  those  parts,  and 
was  perfectly  independent. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  Barnaby  got  the 


better  of  the  shock  he  had  sustained,  or  regained 
his  old  health  and  gaiety.  But  he  recovered 
by  degrees :  and  although  he  could  never  sepa- 
rate his  condemnation  and  escape  from  the  idea 
of  a  terrific  dream,  he  became,  in  other  respects, 
more  rational.  Dating  from  the  time  of  his  re- 
covery, he  had  a  better  memory  and  greater 
steadiness  of  purpose  ;  but  a  dark  cloud  over- 
hung his  whole  previous  existence,  and  never 
cleared  away. 

He  Avas  not  the  less  happy  for  this  ;  for  his 
love  of  freedom  and  interest  in  all  that  moved 
or  grew,  or  had  its  being  in  the  elements,  re- 
mained to  him  unimpaired.  He  lived  with  his 
mother  on  the  Maypole  farm,  tending  the  poul- 
try and  the  cattle,  working  in  a  garden  of  his 
own,  and  helping  everywhere.  He  was  known 
to  every  bird  and  beast  about  the  place,  and  had 
a  name  for  every  one.  Never  was  there  a  light- 
er-hearted husbandman,  a  creature  more  popu- 
lar with  young  and  old,  a  blither  or  more  happy 
soul  than  Barnaby  :  and  though  he  was  free  to 
ramble  where  he  would,  he  never  quitted  Her, 
but  was  for  evermore  her  stay  and  comfort. 

It  was  remarkable  that  although  he  had  that 
dim  sense  of  the  past,  he  sought  out  Hugh's 
dog,  and  took  him  under  his  care;  and  that  he 
never  could  be  tempted  into  London.  When 
the  Riots  were  many  years  old,  and  Edward  and 
his  wife  came  back  to  England  with  a  family 
almost  as  numerous  as  Dolly's,  and  one  day 
appeared  at  the  Maypole  porch,  he  knew  them 
instantly,  and  wept  and  leaped  for  joy.  But 
neither  to  visit  them,  nor  on  any  other  pretence, 
no  matter  how  full  of  promise  and  enjoyment, 
could  he  be  persuaded  to  set  foot  in  the  streets  : 
nor  did  he  ever  conquer  this  repugnance  or  look 
upon  the  town  again. 

Grip  soon  recovered  his  looks,  and  became 
as  glossy  and  sleek  as  ever.  But  he  was  pro- 
foundly silent.  Whether  he  had  forgotten  the 
art  of  Polite  Conversation  in  Newgate,  or  had 
made  a  vow  in  those  troubled  times  to  forego, 
for  a  period,  the  display  of  his  accomplishments, 
is  matter  of  uncertainty  ;  but  certain  it  is  that 
for  a  whole  year  he  never  indulged  in  any  other 
sound  than  a  grave,  decorous  croak.  At  the 
expiration  of  that  term,  the  morning  being  very 
bright  and  sunny,  he  was  heard  to  address  him- 
self to  the  horses  in  the  stable  upon  the  subject 
of  the  Kettle,  so  often  mentioned  in  these 
pages;  and  before  the  witness  who  overheard 
him  could  run  into  the  bouse  with  the  intelli- 
gence, and  add  to  it  upon  his  solemn  affirmation 
the  statement  that  he  had  heard  him  laugh,  the 
bird  himself  advanced  with  fantastic  steps  to 
the  very  door  of  the  bar,  and  there  cried  "  I  'm 
a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  /'m  a  devil!"  with  extra- 
ordinary rapture. 

From  that  period  (although  he  was  supposed 
to  be  much  affected  by  the  death  of  Mr.  Willet 
senior),  he  constantly  practised  and  improved 
himself  in  the  vulgar  tongue;  and  as  he  was 
a  mere  infant  for  a  raven,  when  Barnaby  waa 
grey,  be  has  very  probably  gone  on  talking  ti- 
the present  time. 


END   OF   "BARNABY  RUDGE." 


320 


MASTER    HUMPHREY'S    CLOCK. 


MASTER  HUMPHREY  FROM  HIS  CLOCKSIDE  IN  THE  CHIMNEY  CORNER* 


It  is  again  midnight.  My  fire  burns  cheer- 
fully ;  the  room  is  filled  with  my  old  friend's 
sober  voice ;  and  I  am  left  to  muse  upon  the 
etory  we  have  just  now  finished. 

It  makes  me  smile,  at  such  a  time  as  this,  to 
think  if  there  were  any  one  to  see  me  sitting  in 
my  easy  chair,  my  grey  head  hanging  down, 
my  eyes  bent  thoughtfully  upon  the  glowing 
embers,  and  my  crutch  —  emblem  of  my  help- 
lessness— lying  upon  the  hearth  at  my  feet,  how 
solitary  I  should  seem.  Yet  though  I  am  the 
sole  tenant  of  this  chimney-corner,  though  I  am 
childless  and  old,  I  have  no  sense  of  loneliness 
at  this  hour;  but  am  the  centre  of  a  silent 
group  whose  company  I  love. 

Thus,  even  age  and  weakness  have  their  con- 
solations. If  I  were  a  younger  man  ;  if  I  were 
more  active;  more  strongly  bound  and  tied  to 
life;  these  visionary  friends  would  shun  me,  or 
I  should  desire  to  fly  from  them.  Being  what 
I  am,  I  can  court  their  society;  and  delight  in 
it;  and  pass  whole  hours  in  picturing  to  myself 
the  shadows  that  perchance  flock  every  night 
into  this  chamber,  and  in  imagining  with  plea- 
sure what  kind  of  interest  they  have  in  the 
frail,  feeble  mortal  who  is  its  sole  inhabitant. 
/  All  the  friends  I  have  ever  lost,  I  find  once 
(  more  among  these  visiters.  I  love  to  fancy 
■  their  spirits  hovering  about  mo,  feeling  still 
some  earthly  kindness  for  their  old  companion, 
and  watching  his  decay.  "  He  is  weaker,  he 
declines  apace,  he  draws  nearer  and  nearer  to 
us,  and  will  soon  be  conscious  of  our  existence." 
What  is  there  to  alarm  me  in  this !  It  is  en- 
couragement and  hope. 

These  thoughts  have  never  crowded  on  me 
half  so  fast  as  they  have  done  to-night.  Faces 
I  had  long  forgotten,  have  become  familiar  to 
me  once  again  ;  traits  I  had  endeavoured  to  re- 
call for  years,  have  come  before  me  in  an  in- 
stant; nothing  is  changed  but  me:  and  even  I 
can  be  my  former  self  at  will. 

Raising  my  eyes  but  now  to  the  face  of  my 
old  clock,  I  remember,  quite  involuntarily,  tlie 
veneration,  not  unmixed  with  a  sort  of  childish 
awe,  with  which  I  used  to  sit  and  watch  it,  as 
h  ticked  unheeded  in  a  dark  staircase  corner.  I 
recollect  looking  more  grave  and  steady  when 
I  met  its  dusty  face,  as  if,  having  that  strange 
kind  of  life  within  it,  and  being  free  from  all 
excess  of  vulgar  appetite,  and  warning  all  the 
house  by  night  and  day,  it  were  a  sage.  How 
often  have  1  listened  to  it  as  it  told  the  beads  of 
time,  and  wondered  at  its  constancy!  How 
often  watched  it  slowly  pointing  round  the  dial, 
and,  while  I  panted  for  the  eagerly-expected 

*  Barnaby  Rudge  and  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop 
were  published  in  London  as  a  part  of  Master  Hum- 
phrey's Clock. 


hour  to  come,  admired,  despite  myself,  its  steadi- 
ness of  purpose,  and  lofty  freedom  from  all 
human  strife,  impatience,  and  desire! 

I  thought  it  cruel  once.  It  was  very  hard  of 
heart,  to  my  mind,  I  remember.  It  was  an  old 
servant,  even  then ;  and  I  felt  as  though  it 
ought  to  show  some  sorrow  ;  as  though  it  want- 
ed sympathy  with  us  in  our  distress  ;  and  were 
a  dull,  heartless,  mercenary  creature.  Ah!  how 
soon  I  learnt  to  know  that  in  its  ceaseless 
going  on,  and  in  its  being  checked  or  stayed  by 
nothing,  lay  its  greatest  kindness,  and  the  only 
balm  for  grief  and  wounded  peace  of  mind! 

To-night,  to-night,  when  this  tranquillity  and 
calm  are  on  my  spirits,  and  memory  presents  so 
many  shifting  scenes  before  me,  I  take  my 
quiet  stand,  at  will,  by  many  a  fire  that  has 
been  long  extinguished,  and  mingle  with  the 
cheerful  group  that  cluster  round  it.  If  1 
could  be  sorrowful  in  such  a  mood,  1  should 
grow  sad  to  think  what  a  poor  blot  I  was  upon 
their  youth  and  beauty  once,  and  now  how  few 
remain  to  put  me  to  the  blush  ;  I  should  grow 
sad  to  think  that  such  among  them,  as  I  some- 
times meet  with  in  my  daily  walks,  are  scarcely 
less  infirm  than  I;  that  time  has  brought  us  to 
a  level ;  and  that  all  distinctions  fade  and  van- 
ish as  we  take  our  trembling  steps  towards  the 
grave. 

But  memory  was  given  us  for  better  purposes 
than  this :  and  mine  is  not  a  torment,  but  a 
source  of  pleasure.  To  muse  upon  the  gaiety  and 
youth  I  have  known,  suggests  to  me  glad  scenes 
of  harmless  mirth  that  may  be  passing  now. 
From  contemplating  them  apart,  I  soon  become, 
an  actor  in  these  little  dramas;  and  humouring 
my  fancy,  lose  myself  among  the  beings  i* 
invokes. 

When  my  fire  is  bright  and  high,  and  a  warm 
blush  mantles  in  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  this 
ancient  room ;  when  my  clock  makes  cheerful 
music,  like  one  of  those  chirping  insects  who 
delight  in  the  warm  hearth,  and  are  sometimes, 
by  a  good  superstition,  looked  upon  as  the  har- 
bingers of  fortune  and  plenty  to  that  household 
in  whose  mercies  they  put  their  humble  trust; 
when  everything  is  in  a  ruddy  genial  glow,  and 
there  are  voices  in  the  crackling  flame,  and 
smiles  in  its  flashing  light;  other  smiles  and 
other  voices  congregate  around  me,  invading 
with  their  pleasant  harmony  the  silence  of  the 
time. 

For  then  a  knot  of  youthful  creatures  gathci 
round   my  fireside,  and  the  room  re-echoes  to 
their  merry  voices.    My  solitary  chair  no  longer 
holds  its  ample  place  before    ihe    fire,   but  is  ; 
wheeled   into  a  smaller  corner,  to  leave  more  i 
room    for   the   broad   circle  formed    about   the  - 
cheerful  hearth.      I  have  sons  and  daughters, 
and  grandchildren;  and  we  are  assembled  on 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOOR 


321 


some  occasion  of  rejoicing  common  to  us  all. 
It  is  a  birthday,  perhaps,  or  perhaps  it  may  be 
Christmas-time:  but  be  it  what  it  may,  there  is 
rare  holyday  amonnf  us,  we  are  full  of  glee. 

In  tlie  chimney -corner,  opposite  myself,  sits 
one  wlio  has  grown  old  beside  me.  She  is 
changed,  of  course  ;  much  changed  ;  and  yet 
[  recognize  the  girl,  even  in  that  grey  hair  and 
wrinkled  brow.  Glancing  from  the  laughing 
3hild  who  half  hides  in  her  ample  skirts,  and 
half  peeps  out, — and  from  her  to  the  little  ma- 
Iron  of  twelve  years  old,  who  sils  so  womanly 
ind  so  demure  at  no  great  distance  from  me, — 
and  from  her  again  to  a  fair  girl  in  the  full 
bloom  of  early  womanhood  :  the  centre  of  the 
group  :  who  has  glanced  more  than  once  to- 
wards the  opening  door,  and  by  whom  the 
children,  whispering  and  tittering  among  them- 
selves, w)?7/ leave  a  vacant  chair,  although  she 
bids  them  not, — I  see  her  image  thrice  repeated, 
and  feel  how  long  it  is  before  one  form  and  set 
of  features  wholly  pass  away,  if  ever,  from 
among  the  living.  \Vhile  I  am  dwellinor  upon 
this,  and  tracing  out  the  gradual  change  from 
nfanc}'  to  youth  ;  from  youth  to  perfect  growth  ; 
tirom  that  to  age;  and  thinking,  with  an  old 
man's  pride,  that  she  is  comely  yet ;  I  feel  a 
Blight  thin  hand  upon  my  arm,  and,  looking 
down,  see  seated  at  my  feet  a  crippled  boy — a 
gentle  patient  child — whose  aspect  1  know  well. 
He  rests  upon  a  little  crutch — I  know  it,  too — 
and  leaning  on  it  as  he  climbs  my  foot-stool, 
whispers  in  my  ear,  "I  am  hardly  one  of  tiiese, 
dear  grandfather,  although  I  love  them  dearly. 


They  are  very  kind  to  me,  bin  you  w  ill  be  kinder 
still,  I  know." 

I  have  my  hand  upon  his  neck,  and  stoop  to 
kiss  him :  when  my  clock  strikes,  my  chair  is 
in  its  old  spot,  and  I  am  alone. 

What  if  I  be!  What  if  this  fireside  ho 
tenantless,  save  for  the  presence  of  one  weak 
old  man  !  From  my  house-top  1  can  look  upon 
a  hundred  homes,  in  every  one  of  which  these 
social  companies  are  matters  of  reality.  In  my 
daily  walks  I  pass  a  thousand  men  whose  cares 
are  all  forgotten,  whose  labours  are  made  light, 
whose  dull  routine  of  work  from  day  to  day  is 
cheered  and  brightened,  by  their  glimpses  of 
domestic  joy  at  home.  Ainid  the  struggles  of 
this  struggling  town,  what  cheerful  sacrifices 
are  made;  what  toil  endured  with  readiness; 
what  patience  shown,  and  fortitude  displayed  ; 
for  the  mere  sake  of  home  and  its  aflections! 
Let  me  thank  Heaven  that  I  can  people  my 
fireside  with  sliadows  such  as  these :  with 
shadows  of  bright  objects  that  exist  in  crowds 
about  me:  and  let  me  say,  "I  am  alone  no 
more." 

I  never  was  less  so, — 1  write  it  with  a  grate- 
ful heart, —  than  lam  to-night.  Recollections 
of  the  past  and  visions  of  the  present,  come  to 
bear  me  company :  the  meanest  man  to  whom 
I  have  ever  given  alms,  appears  to  add  his  mite 
of  peace  and  comfort  to  my  stock  :  and  when- 
ever the  fire  within  me  shall  grow  cold,  to  light 
my  path  upon  this  earth  no  more,  I  pray  that  it 
may  be  at  such  an  hour  as  this,  and  when  1  love 
the  world  as  well  as  I  do  now. 


THE  DEAF  GENTLEMAN  FROM  HIS  OWN  APARTMENT. 


Our  dear  friend  laid  down  his  pen  at  the  end 
of  the  foregoing  paragraph,  to  take  it  up  no 
more.  I  little  thought  ever  to  employ  mine  upon 
BO  sorrowful  a  task  as  that  which  he  has  left 
me,  and  to  which  I  now  devote  it. 

As  he  did  not  appear  among  us  at  his  usual 
Hour  next  morning,  we  knocked  gently  at  his 
door.  No  answer  being  given,  it  was  softly 
opened ;  and  then,  to  our  surprise,  we  saw  him 
seated  before  the  ashes  of  his  fire,  with  a  little 
table  I  was  accustomed  to  set  at  his  elbow  when 
I  left  him  for  the  night,  at  a  short  distance  from 
him  ;  as  though  he  had  pushed  it  away  with  the 
idea  of  risin<j  and  retiring  to  his  bed.  His 
crutch  and  footstool  lay  at  his  feet  as  usual,  and 
he  was  dressed  in  his  chamber-gown,  which  he 
had  put  on  before  I  left  him.  He  was  reclining 
in  his  chair,  in  his  accustomed  posture,  with  his 
face  towards  the  fire,  and  seemed  absorbed  in 
meditation,  —  indeed,  at  first,  we  almost  hoped 
he  was. 

Going  up  to  him,  we  found  him  dead.  I  have 
often,  very  often,  seen  him  sleeping,  and  always 
peacefully  ;  but  I  never  saw  him  look  so  calm 
and  tranquil.  His  face  wore  a  serene,  benign 
expression,  which  had  impressed  me  very  strong- 
ly when  we  last  shook  hands :  not  that  he  had 
«ver  any  other  look,  God  knows:  but  there  was 


something  in  this  so  very  spiritual,  so  strangely 
and  indefinably  allied  to  youth,  althouo-h  his 
head  was  grey  and  venerable,  that  it  was  new 
even  in  him.  It  came  upon  me  all  at  once, 
when  on  some  slight  pretence  he  called  me  back 
upon  the  previous  night,  to  take  me  by  the  hand 
again,  and  once  more  say,  "God  bless  you." 

A  bell-rope  hung  within  his  reach,  but  he  had 
not  moved  towards  it,  nor  had  he  stirred,  we  all 
agreed,  except  as  I  have  said,  to  push  away  his 
table,  which  he  could  have  done,  and  no  doubt 
did,  with  a  very  slight  motion  of  his  hand.  He 
had  relapsed  for  a  moment  into  his  late  train  of 
meditation,  and  with  a  thoughtful  smile  upon  his 
face,  had  died. 

I  had  long  known  it  to  be  his  wish,  that  when 
ever  this  event  should  come  to  pass,  we  might 
all  be  assembled  in  the  house.  I  therefore  lost 
no  time  in  sending  for  Mr.  Pickwick  and  for 
j  Mr.  Miles:  both  of  whom  arrived  before  the 
messenger's  return. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  dilate  upon  the  Eorrow, 
!  and  affectionate  emotions,  of  wiiicli  1  was  at 
I  once  the  witness  and  the  sharer.  But  I  may 
say,  of  the  humbler  mourners,  that  his  faithful 
j  housekeeper  was  fairly  heart-broken  ;  that  the 
I  poor  barber  would  not  be  comforted;  and  that  I 
I  shall  respect  the  homely  truth  and  warmth  of 


322 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S  CLOCK. 


heart  of  Mr.  Weller  and  his  son,  to  the  last  mo- 
ment of  my  life. 

•  "  And  the  sweet  old  creetur,  sir,"  said  the 
elder  Mr.  Weller  to  me  in  tlie  afternoon,  "  has 
bolted.  Him  as  had  no  wice,  and  was  so  free 
from  temper  that  a  infant  mijht  ha'  drove  him, 
has  been  took  at  last  with  that  'ere  unawoidable 
fit  o'  stan^gcrs  as  we  all  must  come  to,  and  gone 
off  his  feed  for  ever!  I  see  him,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  with  a  moisture  in  his  eye  which 
could  not  be  mistaken,  "  I  see  him  getlin',  every 
journey,  more  and  more  groggy;  I  says  to 
Sainivel,  '  My  boy  !  the  Grey  's  a  going  at  the 
knees;'  and  now  my  predilictions  is  fatally  wer- 
ified ;  and  him  as  I  could  never  do  enough  to 
serve  or  show  my  likin'  for,  is  up  the  great  uni- 
wersal  spout  o'  natur'." 

I  was  not  the  less  sensible  of  the  old  man's 
attachment,  because  he  expressed  it  in  his  pecu- 
liar manner.  Indeed,  I  can  truly  assert,  of  both 
him  and  his  son,  that  notwithstanding  the  extra- 
ordinary dialogues  they  held  together,  and  the 
strange  commentaries  and  corrections  with 
which  each  of  them  illustrated  the  other's 
speech,  I  do  not  think  it  possible  to  exceed  the 
sincerity  of  their  regret:  and  that  I  am  sure 
their  thoughtfulness  and  anxiety,  in  anticipating 
the  discharge  of  many  little  offices  of  sympathy, 
would  have  done  honour  to  the  most  delicate- 
minded  persons. 

Our  friend  had  frequently  told  us  that  his  will 
would  be  found  in  a  box  in  the  Clock-case;  the 
key  of  which  was  in  his  writing-desk.  As  he 
had  told  us  also  that  he  desired  it  to  be  opened 
immediately  after  his  death,  whenever  that 
should  happen,  we  met  together  that  night,  for 
the  fulfilment  of  his  request. 

We  found  it  where  he  had  told  us;  wrapped 
in  a  sealed  paper:  and  with  it,  a  codicil  of  re- 
cent date,  in  which  he  named  Mr.  Miles  and 
Mr.  Pickwick  his  executors — as  having  no  need 
of  any  greater  benefit  from  his  estate,  than  a 
generous  token  (which  he  bequeathed  to  them) 
of  bis  friendship  and  remembrance. 

After  pointing  out  the  spot  in  which  he  wish- 
ed his  ashes  to  repose,  he  gave  to  '  his  dear  old 
friends,'  Jack  Redhurn  and  myself,  his  house, 
his  books,  his  furniture  —  in  short,  all  that  his 
house  contained:  and  with  this  legacy,  more 
ample  means  of  maintaining  it  in  its  present 
state,  than  we,  with  our  habits,  and  at  our  terms 
of  life,  can  ever  exhaust.  Besides  these  gifts, 
he  left  to  us,  in  trust,  an  annual  sum  of  no  in- 
significant amount,  to  be  distributed  in  charity 
among  his  accustomed  pensioners —  they  are  a 
long  list — and  such  other  claimants  on  his  boun- 
ty, as  might,  from  time  to  time,  present  them- 
selves. And  as  true  charity  not  only  covers  a 
multitude  of  sins,  but  includes  a  multitude  of 
virtues ;  such  as  forgiveness,  liberal  construction, 
gentleness  and  mercy  to  the  faults  of  others, 
and  the  remembrance  of  our  own  imperfections 
and  advantages;  he  bade  us  not  inquire  too 
closely  into  the  venial  errors  of  the  poor,  but 
finding  that  they  tvere  f>oor,  first  to  relieve, 
and  then  endeavour — at  an  advantage — to  re- 
claim them. 


To  the  housekeeper,  he  left  an  annuity ;  siift 
ficient  for  her  comfortable  maintenance  and 
support  through  life.  For  the  barber,  who  has 
attended  him  many  years,  he  made  a  similar 
provision.  And  I  may  make  two  remarks  in 
this  place:  first,  that  I  think  this  pair  are  very 
likely  to  club  their  means  together  and  make  a 
match  of  it;  and  secondly,  that  I  think  my 
friend  had  tins  result  in  his  mind :  for  I  have 
heard  him  say,  more  than  once,  that  he  could 
not  concur  with  the  generality  of  mankind,  in 
censuring  equal  marriages  made  in  later  life, 
since  there  were  many  cases  in  which  such 
unions  could  not  fail  to  be  a  w^ise  and  rational 
source  of  happiness  to  both  parties. 

The  elder  Mr.  Weller  is  so  far  from  viewing 
this  prospect  with  any  feelings  of  jealousy,  that 
he  appears  to  be  very  much  relieved  by  its  con- 
templation ;  and  his  son,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
participates  in  this  feelinnr.  We  are  all  of 
opinion,  however,  that  the  old  gentleman's  dan- 
ger, even  at  its  crisis,  was  very  slight ;  and  that 
he  merely  laboured  under  one  of  iho^f.  transitory 
weaknesses,  to  which  persons  of  his  tempera- 
ment are  now  and  then  liable,  and  which  be- 
come less  and  less  alarming  at  every  return, 
until  they  wholly  subside.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
will  remain  a  jolly  old  widower,  for  the  rest  of 
his  life ;  as  he  has  already  inquired  of  me,  with 
much  gravity,  whether  a  writ  of  habeas  corpus 
would  enable  him  to  settle  his  property  upon 
Tony,  beyond  the  possibility  of  recal ;  and  has, 
in  my  presence,  conjured  his  son  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  that  in  the  event  of  his  ever  becoming 
amorous  again,  he  will  put  him  in  a  strait- 
waistcoat  until  the  fit  is  passed,  and  distinctly 
inform  the  lady  that  his  property  is  "  made 
over." 

Although  I  have  very  little  doubt  that  Sam 
would  dutifully  comply  with  these  injunctions 
in  a  case  of  extreme  necessity,  and  that  he 
would  do  so  with  perfect  composure  and  cool- 
ness, I  do  not  apprehend  things  will  ever  come 
to  that  pass:  as  the  old  gentleman  seems  per- 
fectly happy  in  the  society  of  his  son,  his  pretty 
daughter-in-law,  and  his  grandchildren  :  and  has 
solemnly  announced  his  determination  to  "take 
arter  the  old  un  in  all  respects:"  from  which  I 
infer  that  it  is  his  intention  to  regulate  his  con- 
duct by  the  model  of  Mr.  Pickwick,  who  will 
certainly  set  him  the  example  of  a  single  life. 

I  have  diverged  for  a  moment  from  the  sub- 
ject with  which  I  set  out,  for  I  know  that  my 
friend  was  interested  in  these  little  matters,  and 
I  have  a  natural  tendency  to  linger  upon  any  to- 
pic that  occupied  his  thoughts,  or  gave  him  plea- 
sure or  amusement.  His  remaining  wishes  are 
very  briefly  told.  He  desired  that  we  woiild 
make  him  the  frequent  subject  of  our  conversa- 
tion :  at  the  same  time,  that  we  would  never 
speak  of  him  with  an  air  of  gloom  or  restraint, 
but  frankly,  and  as  one  whom  we  still  loved,  and 
hoped  to  meet  again.  He  trusted  that  the  old 
house  would  wear  no  aspect  of  mourning,  but 
that  it  would  be  lively  and  cheerful ;  and  that 
we  would  not  remove  or  cover  up  his  picture, 
which  hangs  in  our  dining-room,  but  make  it 


MASTER  HUMPHREY'S   CLOCK. 


323 


our  companion,  as  lie  had  been.  His  own  room, 
our  place  of  meetings,  remains,  at  liis  desire,  in 
its  accustomed  state ;  our  seats  are  placed  about 
the  table,  as  of  old;  his  easy  chair,  his  desk,  his 
crutch,  liis  footstool,  hold  their  accustomed 
places;  and  the  clock  stands  in  its  familiar  cor- 
ner. \Ve  go  into  the  chamber  at  stated  times, 
to  see  that  all  is  as  it  should  be;  and  to  take 
care  that  the  light,  and  air,  are  not  shut  out: 
for  on  that  point,  he  expressed  a  strong  solici- 
tude. But  it  was  his  fancy,  that  the  apartment 
should  not  be  inhabited  ;  that  it  should  bo  reli- 
giously preserved  in  this  condition  ;  and  that  the 
voice  of  his  old  companion  should  be  heard  no 
more. 

My  own  history  may  be  summed  up  in  very 
few  words  ;  and  even  those  I  should  have  spared 
the  reader,  but  for  my  friend's  allusion  to  me 
Bome  time  since.  I  have  no  deeper  sorrow  than 
the  loss  of  a  child  —  an  only  daughter,  who  is 
living,  and  who  fled  from  her  father's  house  but 
a  few  weeks  before  our  friend  and  I  first  met. 
I  had  never  spoken  of  this,  even  to  him;  be- 
cause I  have  always  loved  her,  and  I  could  not 
bear  to  tell  him  of  her  error,  until  I  could  tell 
him  also  of  her  sorrow  and  regret.     Happily  I 


was  enabled  to  do  so  some  time  ago.  And  it 
will  not  be  long,  with  Heaven's  good  leave,  before 
she  is  restored  to  me  —  before  I  find,  in  her  and 
her  husband,  the  support  of  my  declining  years. 

For  my  pipe —  it  is  an  old  relic  of  home,  a 
thing  of  no  great  worth,  a  poor  trifle :  but 
sacred  to  me  for  her  sake. 

Thus,  since  the  death  of  our  venerable  friend, 
Jack  Redburn  and  I  have  been  tiie  sole  tenants 
of  the  old  house  ;  and,  day  by  day,  have  lounged 
together  in  his  favourite  walks.  Mindful  of  his 
injunctions,  we  have  long  been  able  to  speak  of 
him  with  ease  and  cheerfulness  ;  and  to  remem- 
ber him  as  he  would  be  remembered.  From 
certain  allusions  which  Jack  has  dropped,  to  his 
having  been  deserted  and  cast  off  in  early  life, 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  some  passages  of 
his  youth  may  possibly  be  shadowed  out  in  the 
history  of  Mr.  Chester  and  his  son:  but  seeing 
that  he  avoids  the  subject,  I  have  not  pursued  it. 

My  task  is  done.  The  chamber  in  which  we 
have  whiled  away  so  many  hours,  not  I  hope 
without  some  pleasure  and  some  profit,  is  de- 
serted :  our  happy  hour  of  meeting  strikes  no 
more :  the  chimney-corner  has  grown  cold :  and 
Master  Humphrey's  Clock  has  stopped  for  ever. 


THE   END. 


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